


I'm Gonna Lose My Mind (History Keeps Pulling Me Down)

by soulofair



Series: Just Keep Following The Heartlines On Your Hand (Or Was It Head?) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Genderswap, Girl!Arthur, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 44,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofair/pseuds/soulofair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of waiting, Arthur returns, but not quite in the way that Merlin had expected. </p><p>Post 5x13, which means only one thing: Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Florence + the Machine's "Leave My Body"

He had seen hundreds of years. No one had ever seen as many years as he did, but there he was, still standing in the same body he had had all those years ago. 

Children laughed at his beard and his ears, as they had done for centuries, and sadly, he grew ignorant of their laughter or their pointing or any attention anyone paid him. He thought of when he had played the role of the old sorceress who was a hermit and kept to herself by the lake. He thought of how he had helped Gwen and how he had almost convinced Arthur to make an effort to thank him for all of his work keeping Camelot afloat when Arthur couldn’t do it alone.

Maybe being a hermit wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

But, every time Merlin tried to leave the small town, it nearly crippled him. The longest he had been able to bear being away from the lake had been two weeks. That had been nearly thirty years before, and by the time Merlin returned, he swore that he would never do it again. 

Of course, the list of rumors was ongoing and perhaps the only reason people paid attention to him. He hadn’t rented a room or house since the early 10th century, when the town first cropped up, because he had gone a whole fifty years without moving or having anyone join him in the rented room. Eventually, he decided that he needed to build his own home, something that would be inconspicuous enough to remain hidden, but to stand the test of time. It was unclear as to how long he would last, but if he could just stay out of the way of the rest of the world and muster through it, he might be okay. 

If okay was the right way of putting it. Misery had come and gone about a hundred years after Arthur’s death. After that point, there really were no emotions that he felt, and he lived in the numbness for about five hundred years. Anger and claustrophobia settled in during the Middle Ages, being replaced with an era of distraction once the Renaissance came along and there were far more interesting things to go about thinking about. But once the 30-Years War rolled around in England and was ended by the Glorious Revolution, Merlin settled into yet another period of melancholy. 

And then, around the time that Queen Victoria was crowned, Merlin came around again and returned to a neutral state of being. It was at this time that he decided it was time to become young again, and reversed his aging. He caught the eyes of many fine young women, but none really struck his fancy. Their companionship was lovely, but he never took it beyond that. 

World War I rolled through Europe, and Merlin found himself busy with the injuries of the boys of Britain who had returned home from what they had all believed to be a short and easy war against the enemy. Like Merlin, many of those young men were forever changed by the war and would wear their experiences in their eyes for the rest of their lives. 

World War I was the first time that Merlin truly felt as though there were people out there that felt the same immense sorrow as he. Those young men had marched away from their homes, their families, and towns, going off to war, ignorant to what war meant and what it would do to them. Merlin had left Ealdor, ignorant to what his life would be in Camelot, and obviously, that decision was long lasting and there really was nothing Merlin could do to rid himself of the agony that he faced on a daily basis. 

World War II came blaring at him at full force, wiping out bits and pieces of the land that he had come to know so intimately. He wanted no part in this madness, but found himself, again, tending to the wounds of the returning soldiers and those whom had fled the cities for safekeeping. He tended to their wounds accordingly, but kept to himself in the fear that he would see himself in more and more people. 

He saw Elizabeth II crowned. He saw the Cold War. He saw and heard the news of the assassinations and Civil Rights movements in the United States and the apartheid struggles in South Africa. He saw the beginning of space exploration and what similarities science bore to magic. All the while, he still studied the ways of the Old Religion, trying to make sense of the many intricacies. 

He saw modernization hit the world. The increase of technology, ease of access to information and goods, and consumerism. He saw hostility rise among nations and he wondered how different was this modern world in comparison to the world he was born into. Of course, there were blatantly obvious differences, but when you pulled away at all the minute details, was there truly a difference?

Merlin was starting to believe that he had seen it all when his life had come to the point that he knew his routine down to the dot. Every morning, he would get up, put the (electric) kettle on and go fetch the paper. (That had been another thing he had witnessed—the change in language. He laughed at how foreign his native tongue was to him sometimes.)

After getting the paper, he would prepare his mug of tea. And since he was usually hungry, he’d pop a slice of bread into the toaster and wait for his tea and toast to be ready. Thereafter, he would sit down at the small table in the corner of the tiny kitchen (he hadn’t anticipated needing a large kitchen when he had set out to construct his home several centuries before) and read the paper, scoffing at all the nonsense that was going on in the world. 

From there, he would dress and head into town. Even though he rather disliked going into town, he had established an apothecary in a little shop just off the main street in town. This was what kept him from going mad. 

But even then, that was a very generous way of putting it.


	2. Chapter 2

Mars had always been a little stir-crazy. At age twenty-six, she was the youngest GP in her year. She always had been the youngest student of her year, but now, it was really obvious she was the youngest because everyone else in her medical school graduating class was a few years older than she was. It wasn’t her fault that she was a prodigy. School had always been tedious for her, and medical school had been a welcome challenge. But even then, that was easy. 

She was a dreamy young woman. Dreams were the only thing she had; living in a reality that left very little for her to chase always had its deficits and dreams were what filled that void. She had long abandoned her family and friends. She had left her home when she went off to university, silently vowing never to return. Martha “Mars” Pembroke had nothing to lose anymore. She was dangerously close to being just a shell of the woman she was born as, and the only thing she was holding on to was her medical training. 

If she didn’t have medicine, she didn’t have a purpose.

It had been years since she left her childhood home in Manchester, and she had no intention of ever returning, but the island was only so large and she suspected that there would be a shortage of places she could run to hide. So, the only thing she could really do was to finish her medical training and be on her merry way. She had worked hard to muster through all the work, but now that she was done, she wasn’t sure if she would work in a hospital or a clinic. Maybe she wouldn’t work at all. 

Maybe she’d just keep running. 

And run she did. She hightailed it out of London as soon as she finished the training to become a GP, after nearly eleven years of dealing with schooling and people. There was nowhere in particular she was heading, but she figured that she’d give the world a shot. 

There was something rather unnerving about being on her own for the first time in her life. There was no one to cater to, no one to consider. There was nothing to hold her back except for herself, and most of all, the past. The past was always a contradiction to her well-laid plans. 

Which was why she found herself in Glastonbury. 

This town was far too small for her liking, but it felt right. After years of living with the very real feeling that she was stuck in an average life, an average body, an average place, an average time, when she really should have been something more, she was here, in Glastonbury, here to see the infamous Glastonbury Tor, and she felt whole. 

She’d been searching for that feeling for years. Her entire life. Maybe the majority of her existence. She’d only remembered feeling this way once. Only once. Years ago, before she was even born. Before she was even Martha Pembroke. 

And she was almost certain she knew why she finally felt this way.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the fact that Mars had a very good feeling about Glastonbury, she absolutely hated it. Abhorred it, actually. There was no end to her disdain for the place, and honestly, if it weren’t for that feeling, she’d been gone an hour after setting foot in the town. 

She was bored. Terribly bored and insecure about everything. She didn’t care much for Plymouth, but she hadn’t expected Plymouth to be more exciting than here. In fact, she hated most places she lived. Nothing seemed to fit her anymore. Mars was starting to think that maybe she needed to head to the Continent for a little excitement. But every time she tried to leave Britain, it felt like a little piece of her died. One time, back when she was in primary school, her class had gone across the Channel for an overnight school trip, she came back with a nasty cold and severe dehydration. No one had known why, but Mars recalled that her parents were not pleased with the teachers and chaperones on the trip. 

Maybe there was something to Glastonbury that Mars just wasn’t seeing. Maybe she needed to get out and explore a little bit. After all, staying cooped up in the cheap bed and breakfast and reading all day certainly would impact her mood. So, she ventured down the quaint streets and tried not to pass judgment on the people she passed. 

As she walked, the feeling within her intensified. She didn’t know why, but it did. For a moment, she supposed it had something to do with the people she passed, but there weren’t many people out and about. She passed an older woman, one that couldn’t have been older than eighty, and Mars found herself thinking about the Revolutionary War. 

She had died on a boat headed for the Colonies. And what fun it would have been, exploring an entirely different continent after the war was over and Britain had won. Mars pondered the thought of what her life would have been like had she not died on the ship headed to America. 

A small dog reminded her of a friend she had had during the Renaissance. They had snuck into a Shakespeare production. The playwright was a bloody genius. Mars had always had a fondness for Shakespeare. 

A woman with her two young boys reminded her of her dear wife, the poor woman who had died in childbirth back in the days after the Glorious Revolution. Mars had rather enjoyed that wife. Sylvie was her name. Sylvie was an excellent cook. 

Mars kept walking and thinking about the lives she had lived. There was one life that she seldom thought about. It was not because there weren’t reminders; oh, lord, there were certainly reminders. There were some periods where the only thing Mars could do to not think about that life was to do something terribly stupid. That was how she had managed to shatter her collarbone. 

She had taken up fencing. The wretched woman whom she called her mother had demanded that Mars take up some sort of hobby, because sitting around and playing around on the piano was not a hobby (despite the fact that Mars was quite accomplished at the piano and that ‘playing around’ on the piano was in fact, Mars composing music) and as it so happened, fencing was the activity that the wretched woman chose. Despite all of Mars’ protests, she spent two years in lessons. 

It wasn’t as if Mars was horrible at fencing. No, Mars was a fantastic fencer. She loved fencing, but she hated the memories it brought about. Every time someone would mark her with the capped tip of their foil, indicating a defeat for Mars, she would become nauseous and panicked. Mars knew exactly why this would happen, but did not want to think about it. 

When it finally became too much to bear, Mars decided she was going to go out windsurfing with a buddy of hers, against her parents’ orders, and managed to shatter her collarbone in the process. In doing so, she sent herself to a place in her memory that she wanted nothing to do with. 

Before she knew what was happening, Mars was brought out of her reverie and was afflicted with the strongest emotion she had ever experienced in any of her lives. She brought a hand up to her face and wiped at her eyes. She was surprised to find that she had been crying. Why was she crying? It was only an old man. She’d never seen him before, so why was she crying?

No. She knew those eyes anywhere. 

“Merlin!” she screamed as she began to run after the old man.

Honestly, she didn’t care what it looked like, a woman wearing trainers, a blue dress flying up probably indecently, and messy hair going everywhere, running after an elderly man whilst she shouted at him. This was Merlin. This was Merlin! 

He didn’t stop. If anything, he picked up his pace. Mars hated running, and of course Merlin would do this to her. He was simply teasing her. He was testing her faith and her commitment to the cause. But he was being foolish for not stopping. Oh, that man. That bloody fool!

Finally, Mars had him. Merlin had dropped one of his bags, and she had come along at just the right moment to swoop down and grab it up from the ground. She moved so that she was in front of him, and she halted, causing Merlin to stop short and glare at her. “That’s my bag,” he sneered.

“I know. Isn’t it proper to help the elderly?” Mars inquired breathlessly as she handed Merlin his bag. 

Merlin eyed her warily as he reached out and snatched the bag from her hands. “Why are you out of breath?” he asked her slowly.

“I was running after you. Merlin, it’s me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“How do I know your name? How could I not recognize you? After all this time, and you look no different. Well, actually, you do look a bit different. New set of clothes, I see. You still look like a peasant, but at least you’ve managed to find yourself another set of clothes.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. “Who are you?”

“It’s me. Arthur!” Mars exclaimed. “Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin looked even less convinced now than before. “Oh, you think you’re so clever… coming ‘round to bully an old man. Oh, your name is Merlin, so you MUST know Arthur Pendragon. Hahahaha,” he said bitterly. “Normally, it’s the foolhardy boys who do it, so I have to say, this is a new experience. A girl is now pestering me about this. Excellent!”

Mars’ shoulders dropped and she tilted her head slightly to get a better look at Merlin’s face. It was him. Those eyes were unmistakable, and she was certain that this was how he looked all those times that he used the aging spell (as she later realized in the life after she was Prince Arthur). “I mean no disrespect,” she finally replied quietly. “Clearly, I’ve been mistaken. I’m sorry sir.”

She stepped out of Merlin’s way and wrung her hands anxiously. She tracked Merlin’s movement away from her, and contemplated whether or not she should try to get his attention again. Ultimately, she doubted that he would stop or cooperate, so her efforts were likely to be done in vain. But she had found him. She was certain of it. 

Mars turned and walked the opposite direction away from Merlin. As she mulled over matters, she came to a few conclusions. One, this place felt quite familiar to her. Two, there was a reason this place felt quite familiar to her, and the fact that she had found Merlin here meant something. Three, she had found a place to stay. 

The next day, Mars decided to do a little exploring. The town wasn’t terribly large and she figured she could manage exploring the entirety in one day. It was quaint, as many British villages tended to be from her experience, and it was remarkably British. She hadn’t given Glastonbury much consideration prior to now, but because she was coming to recognize much of the landscape, albeit the fact that there were now buildings and roads and infrastructure dotting it, she realized that this was home (or nearly good as). 

The second day, Mars became restless. She had been hoping to catch Merlin again, but he hadn’t crossed her path again yet. Glastonbury was a strange place for Merlin to choose to live, but then again, Merlin was an odd fellow. There had to be a good reason for him to be here. 

But Glastonbury was not London or even Plymouth. It was a very small town, home to a booming tourism industry that drew in suckers, not unlike Mars, who had all heard the legends about Merlin and his king. She could understand Merlin’s disdain for all the people. She could understand how embittered he could be. And she suspected that it wasn’t a disguise he was donning; he had actually been around so long that he had become a wretchedly old man. 

As she sipped tea from a cozy little café she’d found in her adventuring, she pondered this thought. Merlin, as a wretchedly old man, would likely look to something that would keep his mind sharp. His magic was not likely a welcome feature of the modern age, but then again, there were plenty of illusionists who could replicate Merlin’s work through superficial means. Merlin, if he were savvy, would know that this could work to his benefit when openly using magic. He would want to do something useful. Something productive, but something familiar. 

Her eyes settled on an apothecary across the street. And if that didn’t just scream Merlin, Mars wasn’t sure what would.

She finished her tea and quietly slipped out of the café. She was thrilled to see that the apothecary was open and that there were people inside the shop. As soon as she stepped into the shop, Mars was filled with the sense that she was in the right place. It was an odd feeling; not one that she was able to immediately explain, but because she had had the same feeling about Glastonbury, she supposed that there was no reason to question the reasons behind the feeling she had. 

And sure enough, there he was, standing behind the counter. The old man had managed to put on a smile as he helped customers, though it was obvious to Mars that the smile was pained; well practiced, but hardly genuine. To the untrained or ignorant eye, it would just look like Merlin was having a bad day. Mars suspected Merlin hadn’t had a good day in ages. The worst thing was, it didn’t appear that anyone cared. 

Slowly, Mars approached the counter, letting the other customers trickle out of the shop. She examined the drawers and diagrams that lined the walls of the shop, idly waiting for everyone else to leave so she could speak with Merlin alone. The old man probably would want nothing to do with her, but she was in Glastonbury and she had never felt more at peace in her life and there had to be a reason for it. 

Finally, she stood at the counter, making eye contact with the wretchedly old man. “Hello again,” she chirped.

Merlin scowled at her. “You again?”

“I want to apologize for what happened the other day. You see…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he grumbled.

“But Merlin…”

“No. You don’t get to call me that. Everyone calls me Mr. Ambrosius, and that’s that. That’s why the shop’s called Ambrosius’ Apothecary.”

“Fine. Mr. Ambrosius, I’m here to apologize about what happened the other day. I mean, I’m not really sorry, especially considering I’ve been looking for you for a very long time, and for someone who has quite the reputation that precedes him, you’re not an easy man to track down.”

“Why have you been looking for me? You could have just looked me up on the internet.”

Mars laughed. “If only it were that simple,” she mused.

Merlin eyed her warily before he began cleaning up his counter. “Look, what’s your point?”

“My name is Martha Pembroke. I was born in Manchester.”

“That’s lovely.”

“This is the part where you’re supposed to introduce yourself.”

“Why would I do that? You already apparently know my whole life story. You do know, the legends aren’t entirely true.”

“Of course they aren’t. They missed loads of stuff. They forgot the bit about how rubbish you were at polishing my armor.”

He glanced up at her, a flash of recognition flaring up in his eyes for a brief moment before it faded away again. Was there any way someone could know that? Was there any way someone modern could know that. And he had to admit, her eyes were eerily familiar. Same blue and everything. He saw the same depth to her eyes, and the mirth was familiar. No. There was no way this could be Arthur, reincarnated. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I told you; I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Merlin, what’s happened to you? You used to be… vibrant and spirited. Now, you’re just a grouchy old man.”

“You’re not Arthur.”

“But I am.”

“Arthur is a man.”

“I’ve had any forms. I’ve lived many lives. And somehow, every single life has coincided with some major catastrophe in Albion… Britain.”

“This is preposterous. Why am I even dealing with you? I should kick you out of my shop!”

Merlin turned away in a huff and shuffled into the back room. Mars stood, waiting for his return. A few minutes later, he returned, coming around the counter to stand directly in front of her, with nothing in between them. “I want you out of my shop.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Mars protested.

“I don’t care. Out. Out with you now!” Merlin barked as he lunged at her. 

Mars couldn’t help but smile at the old man. There was no mistaking Merlin’s old man mannerisms. She supposed he could have been putting on airs and he was really still as young as she remembered, but the old man act was starting to seem far too real for him to be acting. 

She was strangely compelled to defy Merlin’s orders. His powers did not fear her, and she was confident that she could wear him down. “I need you to trust me,” Mars sighed. 

Merlin rolled his eyes and shuffled away from her. “That’s nice,” he scoffed.

Truly at a loss for how to get this stuffy old man that Merlin had turned into to trust her, Mars stood for a moment, her eyes narrowed and her stance strong. Finally, it came to her, and without warning, her shirt was off and tossed on a chair nearby. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Merlin exclaimed as he turned away from her in a flurry of awkward and embarrassed movements. 

Mars stepped towards him and spun him around. “Look at me.”

Merlin tried shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, but to no avail. Her fingers, much nimbler than they ever had when she had been a man in a previous life, dug into his clothing. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he turned around. “This is hardly proper; an old man looking at a young woman. And in my apothecary shop, nevertheless.”

“We both know that I’m not just some young woman, Merlin, just as we both know that you’re not just an old man.”

Merlin deliberately stared at her forehead, painfully uncomfortable at the thought of looking at this woman, this stranger who claimed that she was Arthur Pendragon, but couldn’t possibly be Arthur Pendragon even if she tried. “I’m older than you are,” Mars joked. 

He brought himself to make eye contact with her and was still uncomfortable by how uncanny the resemblance was. Mars could not be Arthur. Arthur was a man, and Mars was not. Mars was simply a plucky girl with brown hair and straight, white teeth and a freckled nose. Mars was average. Arthur Pendragon was not average. 

“Merlin, please. I know this is weird, but I need you to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you? You’re no one.”

“That may be, but I’m not no one to you.”

Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why are you doing this? I go hundreds of years without anyone, and now, here you are…”

“Maybe that is reason enough for you to trust me. But you still haven’t seen what I am trying to show you.”

“The fact that you’re wearing a frilly bra?” Merlin muttered. “Yes, it’s lovely. I’ve seen the adverts that those girls prance about in, wearing nothing but their pants.”

“You’ve seen lingerie adverts?” Mars asked, appalled by the notion. “I’d never expect you to be the sort…”

“It’s not hard to see the adverts,” Merlin sighed. “Everything is so explicit these days… nothing is kept subtle, and clearly, you seem to agree.”

“Merlin, I will have you know that I don’t go around, whipping my shirt off for everyone’s entertainment. Now, would you please get over yourself and look at what I’m trying to show you?”

“I don’t want to look at your breasts!”

“I’m not showing you my breasts!” Mars exclaimed.

She stepped back and pointed to a furiously red spot on her abdomen. Merlin, a trained physician who had seen far too many scars, contusions, and wounds in his time not to have a strong reaction to a sight like this, frowned and involuntarily leaned closer to inspect it. “What happened?” he asked her.

“Officially or unofficially?” Mars asked him lightly.

He looked up at her. “Is there a difference?”

Mars nodded. “Officially, it’s a birthmark. I’ve always had it. In every life I’ve lived, it’s always been there. But, unofficially, I think we both know what it is.”

Merlin’s posture softened and he stood erect once again. Swallowing hard, he reached over and retrieved Mars’ shirt. “Please put this on,” he said quietly. 

He turned away as she complied, and once she had pulled the soft garment on over her head, she sat down on the chair behind her. “It’s always been there. It’s never gone away.”

Merlin couldn’t really formulate words to respond to this. Finally, he swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “Please leave my shop.”

“Right. Bye Merlin.”

Mars stood and left quietly. Stunned, Merlin stood in the middle of his empty shop and wondered what had happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime in the early 1900s, Merlin lost the capacity to change freely between young and old. His body seemed adamant to stay old. The adjustment had been a rather rough one, but considering he had nearly 1400 years under his belt, he figured it was time that he resign himself to the fate of being an old man. 

The morning after his run in with the rather forthcoming Martha Pembroke, however, brought a very different reality. 

Merlin woke at the usual time, dressed, ate, and made his way down to the apothecary as he always did, but when customers came in, they all wore the same, confused expression. It wasn’t until the fifth customer that came in looking confused that Merlin figured out what was going on. “Is Mr. Ambrosius not in?” the older woman asked.

“I’m sorry?” Merlin asked.

“Mr. Ambrosius? Is he ill today? He was here last week, but he made no indication that he wouldn’t be here this week. If he’s out, he’s made meticulous notes for you, because you’ve gotten my order perfectly!”

Flabbergasted, Merlin stammered, trying to figure out the best way to answer his customer. Something had gone terribly awry, but he wasn’t about to go and determine what had happened. “Um… yeah. He’s taken a bit of a holiday. I’m not sure when he’ll be back,” Merlin explained hastily, wrapping up the rest of Mrs. Flaherty’s purchases. 

As soon as he had a break, Merlin retreated to the back room and tried to make sense of what was going on. He examined his hands meticulously and saw that they had less liver spots and wrinkles than before, but because there was no mirror in the bathroom, he couldn’t make heads or tails of what his face looked like. However, based on the state of his hands and arms, he figured his face looked much younger too. 

Hesitantly, Merlin put his hands on his face and started squeezing and squishing his cheeks and nose and lips. It certainly felt different. “Oh bloody hell,” he muttered. 

He decided to close up shop early that day. It didn’t take a rocket scientist (or the most powerful sorcerer ever) to figure this one out. This Mars woman was at the root of this, and Merlin was determined to get this whole matter sorted. 

Martha Pembroke, he thought she said her name was. Martha was certainly close enough to Arthur, but an idiot could figure that one out. Pembroke and Pendragon certainly had a relation. Those were novel similarities. And blue eyes were not uncommon, especially in Northern Europe. Brown hair wasn’t rare, and blue-eyed women were not rare either. 

Blue eyes like Arthur’s blue eyes weren’t rare either. A lot of people could have Arthur’s eyes and Merlin wouldn’t have noticed. The only reason he noticed Martha’s eyes was because she was taunting him and showed him her breasts. He’d known a few women during his time that had been under the misconception that Merlin was easily swayed by breasts. Merlin wasn’t easily swayed by anything; his nerves were like steel and there was nothing that could shake him. Not even a frilly bra. 

Whoever this Martha Pembroke, or whatever her name was, character turned out to be, Merlin was not going to let her off easy. For all he knew, she could be a sorceress. It had been a while since he had last stumbled across one of those, and the experience hadn’t been pleasant. He had had warts in places that warts were not welcome, and they had lasted for months. Merlin had heard stories about men getting warts in those places, but he had always assumed that the other men had had more fun getting their warts than he had. 

He wasn’t into women. He wasn’t into men either, but that was an entirely different matter. Sex was not interesting to him, and while many people whom he had crossed paths with over the years had thought this was absolutely preposterous, Merlin had never been concerned with it. There was no point in forming connections and bonds with people who would eventually die anyway. Besides, Arthur was enough of a hassle, and Merlin had to be vigilant and patient for Arthur’s return.

Merlin roamed the familiar streets, trying to seek out this Martha Pembroke. She hadn’t left any contact information, but he hoped that his magic could help him. He tried mapping out the town, trying to track her down, but to no avail. In the shop the day before, there had been this peculiar aura that had ruminated through him, filling him with the oddest sensation of completeness. Of course, Merlin hadn’t realized this until much later, until he was wandering the streets in search of the elusive woman. 

He was horrified to realize that he didn’t actually remember what she looked like. The only distinct description he could give of her was, as luck would have it, of her bra and the scar. If asked, Merlin could have possibly procured a near-photographic drawing of the scar and her bra. And it wasn’t even as though there was anything remarkable about her breasts, but that was the only thing he could remember. 

Why couldn't things just be straightforward and easy in his life? It wasn't too much to ask to have some normalcy to his life, right?

 


	5. Chapter 5

Four days had gone past, and Martha was still nowhere to be found. Merlin supposed she had returned to wherever she came from… he thought she’d said she was from Manchester. From basic knowledge, he knew that Manchester was a few hours’ train ride from Glastonbury. He’d never been, but he had heard that Manchester was an interesting place to visit. 

In the last four days, Merlin had mulled over the encounter with Martha countless times. Every analysis he made of their conversation and what had happened eventually brought him to the conclusion that it was quite possible that Martha was the real deal. Merlin had never been told how Arthur would return. He had assumed that Arthur would rise from the lake (the formerly lake-like lake that now was, at best, a giant puddle when it rained) in his armor, bearing Excalibur and his usual sum of pratishness and arrogance. 

Martha had spouted out a detail that only someone from that time could have known. That alone could have been a very good guess, but Merlin wanted to believe that there was something more to it. Actually, he needed there to be something more to it. He was losing hope and no matter what came with Arthur’s return, a millennia and a half of waiting had taken most of Merlin’s soul. 

Merlin would almost say that even if Martha wasn’t Arthur reincarnated, he would be willing to put up with her, simply having her as someone to talk to. The herbs were hardly conversationalists, and his customers were kind, but not people he could really strike up conversation with. The tourists were even harder to communicate with, but he knew the appeal of Glastonbury and why his apothecary would draw visitors, especially with the name of Ambrosius’ Apothecary. 

Soon, it would come time for Merlin to change the name of the apothecary to something very different. Every few decades, he’d change the name of the shop to something new, to deter unwanted attention. He’d change the name on the license (with magic of course; the very last thing he wanted to do was to deal with the people in city hall) and call it good. Keeping unwanted attention away from the shop was more difficult than keeping unwanted attention away from his home. He could get away with saying that the home was a family thing, passed down from one generation to the next. The only trouble with that story was the fact that most people were surprised that the man who lived in the home had any family to call his own. 

He woke up on Saturday, a little later than usual, and lay, staring at the ceiling. It was unusual for him to have a lie-in, but every now and then, he allowed himself the small reward. It reminded him of his younger days, staring up at the wooden supports and stone walls of his room in Gaius’ chambers. In fact, he had modeled his home roughly off of Gaius’ chambers in Camelot. At the time, his architectural expertise was not great, so it hadn’t turned out as he had hoped, but he still enjoyed his home. 

The rain had come a few hours earlier than forecasted. The news had promised heavy rainfall, which meant that the flats around the Tor was entering the time of year where it was perpetually a giant puddle. Thinking of Martha emerging from the marshland, drenched and covered in mud from head to toe, made Merlin smile. 

Why he was starting to warm to the idea of Martha being Arthur was still unknown. There really was no reason for Merlin to think this. Originally, he had thought he was going mad. Only a madman could believe such things. As time went on, he decided that maybe he was warming to the idea because Martha was one of the few people who had hinted at the possibility of actually understanding what Merlin was going through in this time of his life. But what he believed now was that if Martha wasn’t Arthur reincarnated, she was still somehow connected to Arthur. Perhaps they knew each other in the afterlife, and she was sent to come back to the living world and help Merlin cope until Arthur returned.

The birthmark could have been a complete coincidence, and Arthur could have told her stories about how Merlin was a rubbish manservant. And again, Arthur’s blue eyes were not uncommon. 

Merlin drifted back to sleep and did not wake until the following morning. Though this surprised him, Merlin went about his daily routine as if nothing were different, and went into town for some groceries. He liked going into town on Sunday mornings. Many people were in church while the rest of the people were at home with their families. There was something special about Sunday mornings that Merlin particularly enjoyed. He’d never been able to explain it. 

As he selected his favorite brand of butter from the dairy case, he felt something quietly pulling at the back of his mind. It pulled a little more once he picked up a loaf of bread and placed it into his basket before he busied himself with the tireless task of pairing tea with jam. Once he was in the produce aisle, selecting some potatoes and carrots for a stew he enjoyed, the pulling physically pulled him back. 

The motion wasn’t too terribly obvious, but it startled him and he glanced up. He found himself staring straight at Martha, who was oblivious to his presence and selecting some apples. Arthur liked apples. 

When she noticed him, her face drained of all color and her mouth fell open. For a moment, Merlin was afraid that she had died of shock, but she coughed and tried to recover her composure. “Merlin…” she choked. “You… um… grocery shop?”

“Yeah, I tend to do that on occasion,” he replied, feeling incredibly foolish. “Why are you still here? I figured you would have headed back to Manchester.”

She shook her head furiously. “Oh no… no… no. I’m… no. No Manchester for me. Never, ever again.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“No.”

“Well,” Merlin laughed. “That partially explains why you’re in Glastonbury still.”

“I planned on staying for a little longer. Not a lot to do around here, no?”

“There’s a lot to do around here.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there are quite a lot of hills.”

“And what am I to do with all those hills?”

“I dunno. Enjoy them?”

“Right,” Mars replied with a gentle smile. 

She resumed her apple-selecting, placing bright green apples into the plastic bag she had in her hands. Merlin examined her, trying to glean any more information about this woman that might lead him to further conclude her connection to Arthur. Finding a connection was difficult. 

He squirmed uncomfortably, shifting from his left leg to his right leg. He felt like a complete idiot, wearing clothes that were outdated for him even when he was ancient. Mars probably liked contemporary fashion, based on what she was wearing. Nervously, he blurted out: “Have you gone out to the Tor yet? It’s terribly popular. Maybe not in this weather though.”

Her eyes flicked up to him again and he started trembling. Those were Arthur’s eyes, and he had been so foolish to pretend they weren’t. “Are you unwell?” Mars asked him.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve gone pale. Paler than usual, I mean. Without the beard, you can see more of your face.”

And then it hit him: Mars had known it was him before he had even said hello. She had recognized him without him saying anything. Martha Pembroke had addressed him, by name, after he had undergone something with magic that changed his entire appearance. He hardly recognized himself in this form, but she had. 

She was unequivocally Arthur Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon had been reincarnated as a woman. 

Merlin brought both of his hands up to his face, dropping his basket. He didn’t notice the sound of breaking glass (it was likely the bottle of whipping cream) or the liquid seeping into the leg of his trousers. He wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was falling down or that he had hit the ground. All that he was aware of were Martha’s eyes and the new and strange sensation of being free. 

When he came to, he was lying on a stretcher just outside of the supermarket. A man was blotting away blood from Merlin’s leg and another medic was taking Merlin’s blood pressure. There was a flurry of voices and commotion. Merlin found himself confused by his surroundings and wondered how he was here. In remembering how he got there, he remembered seeing Martha in the produce section, picking out apples. Green apples… blue eyes… Arthur… Martha… Martha was Arthur. 

“Merlin?” 

He turned to the voice and saw that it was Martha. She looked very concerned. “Hi,” she murmured gently when he looked at her.

Merlin was now aware of the fact that someone was holding his hand. He presumed it was Martha, based on the fact that she seemed quite content to push the hair off of his forehead and how she was gazing at him fondly. This was Arthur all right. 

His smile was goofy and confused, but Martha chuckled. He grinned even more broadly and giggled. This was how he imagined it would be if he allowed himself to drink himself to a state of perpetual drunkenness. He would constantly find himself in this state of euphoria, induced by alcohol instead of hormones and chemicals in the brain. Dopamine was raging through his veins and the adrenaline was making his head hurt but this was a far better feeling than anything he had ever felt when he drank alcohol or had used other chemical substances. Arthur was here; it didn’t matter how much his head hurt. Arthur was here. 

And Arthur was a woman. 

But Arthur was here.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” Mars explained. “They’re going to take you to the hospital so they can do some tests and scans to make sure that you haven’t done too much damage. You’re also going to need stitches because you fell on a broken glass bottle. You gave everyone quite a fright.”

“Arthur,” Merlin giggled. “You’re back.”

“I’ve always been around, you daft man,” Mars replied lightly, pushing his hair back again. 

He really liked when Martha did that. Merlin hoped she’d do it again. Maybe he had said that out loud, because she did it again and his heart soared. Was he invincible? 

While Merlin couldn’t actually remember the last time anyone had intentionally touched him, whether it was a handshake, a lighthearted bat during a conversation, a hug, or something else, his giddiness and sudden need to be touched was because of Arthur. He needed Arthur to shake his hand, hold his hand, hug him, bat at him lightheartedly during conversation, hug him, or something else. He needed Arthur, Martha rather, to keep her hand in his and her hand on his forehead, because there was a very real chance that he would wake up from this and it would have all been a lie. This could quite possibly be a concussion-induced dream that seemed so real. 

The stretcher started moving. There was conversation around Merlin, but he was too zoned out to follow. When he felt Martha’s hand slipping out of his, he cried out in displeasure. “No! No! Arthur! I need Arthur!”

One of the medics leaned over his head and smiled. “Sir, we’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Where’s Arthur?” Merlin asked, on the verge of tears. 

“Who’s Arthur?”

“The woman… Arthur!”

He started to thrash about, considering using his magic to break the straps that held him down. There was no force in the world that would keep him away from Arthur now. “Sir! Sir, please calm down. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Arthur!” Merlin screamed, thrashing about so much that his head felt like it was on fire and his lungs had decreased to about a quarter of their proper size. 

The medics looked at each other, and started talking amongst themselves. One of them turned away from Merlin and a few seconds later, Martha’s face appeared. “Arthur,” Merlin hiccupped through his tears. 

He couldn’t do much with his arms or legs but he needed her to hold his hand. Flopping his hand about seemed to get the message across. “It’s okay. I’m right here,” she assured him. 

“You’re going to have to get out of the way if he crashes,” one of the medics informed her.

“That’s fine. Just in case it’s important, I am a GP, so if he starts crashing, you have another set of hands,” Mars explained. 

The group of medics were positioned around the stretcher to lift him into the ambulance. Martha glanced down at him. “They’re putting you in right now. I’m going to let go of your hand, but I will be right back.”

He nodded as much as he could given the C-spine collar he suddenly realized he was wearing. Her warm hand let go of his and the chill of the air was vicious. Merlin counted the seconds from when her hand let go of his and when he felt her hand return. It had taken thirty-five seconds, and now he could breathe easier. 

Not being able to see her face allowed Merlin the opportunity to simply adjust to the fact that Arthur was there. Not being able to see Martha but having her hand with his was the best way for Merlin to truly know that this was Arthur. Her hand was much smaller than his; the grip different than Arthur’s had ever been but with the familiar steady grip. The slightness and delicate strength of her fingers were obviously different to Arthur’s hand, but the constancy of how she held his hand distracted Merlin from the difference. 

The drive to the hospital seemed like it took ages. Medics took Merlin’s vitals every few minutes. He didn’t know how often they were taking his vitals, but it seemed like, just as he was finally able to relax, they would be at him again. There were many things that Merlin would have preferred to be doing with his time, such as reacquainting himself with Arthur. 

Things went hazy for Merlin upon arriving at the hospital. Martha had explained that she couldn’t go with him into A&E, but that she would find him as soon as he was stable and he had been thoroughly checked over. This, obviously, did not go over well with Merlin. “No. Please stay with me. Don’t leave me,” he pleaded. 

“Merlin, I can’t. They won’t let me go in.”

“You said you were a GP.”

“I don’t work at this hospital and I haven’t brought my badge with me,” Mars explained. “It will be quick; I promise.”

“But how do you know?”

“I know because this is a very good hospital and everyone here knows what they are doing.”

Merlin glanced up at the medics and tried to reason with them without talking. When that didn’t work, he sighed and began to speak. “Please let her come with us. I’ll be a decent patient and as cooperative as possible; just let her come with me.”

One of the younger medics looked over towards where Merlin presumed Martha was standing. He couldn’t see her since he was still strapped to the stretcher and was still in the C-spine collar. He didn’t see Martha shake her head fervently, trying to convey that she did not want to go with him. 

“I’m sorry sir. She’s right. She won’t be able to come back with us, but the nurses and doctors here are quite qualified and you will be given the best care possible,” the medic assured Merlin.

He felt his heart begin to race again, the panic was returning. “How long?”

“It could be anywhere from one to three hours, sir.”

“One to three hours?” he groaned. “Are you sure she can’t come back?”

The medics nodded and Martha stepped closer to the bed. “I will come find you as soon as it’s okay for me to do so. I promise.”

As a team of nurses came to take control of Merlin’s care, Martha returned to his bedside. “Be a cooperative and decent patient even though I’m not going with you. Being a clotpole won’t help your case at all,” she warned. 

Being in the CT machine made Merlin nauseous and claustrophobic. Even though the technology had erupted around him and he had had ample time to adjust to the changing world around him, large machines such as the one he was lying in still made him uncomfortable. Deep at heart, he was still very much the country boy from Ealdor. 

Later on, the medical student who was doing his stitches was a very quiet fellow, but his handiwork was impeccable. Merlin didn’t mind having the young man poking at his leg and head, save for the fact that he wasn’t great company. Waiting around to see Martha again was tedious, but then again, he had been waiting for a very long time and he had managed to get through that. 

At some point, Merlin had been moved to a shared room. The CT scans had shown that the concussion Merlin had maintained from his fall was enough to warrant keeping him overnight for observation. He had never actually spent the night in a hospital, so this would be a new experience for him. And, as promised, Martha had joined him in the room. 

When he woke up and was confused about where he was, Martha calmly explained what had happened and what the doctors thought of Merlin’s recovery. Never at any point did Merlin think of Martha as a perfect stranger. Sure, she was a good foot shorter than Arthur had been and her voice was certainly a few octaves higher than his voice had been, but the mannerisms and personality were essentially the same. 

Martha had urged Merlin to rest. She had gone all doctor-y on him, almost nagging him about why he needed to rest and give his brain a chance to recover. The bossiness of her tone pleased Merlin. He couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital and have a proper conversation with Martha; based on their interactions thus far, he could tell that things between them would fall perfectly into place. 

“You know… the Spanish have an interesting way of saying whether they get along with someone or not. There isn’t an easy way to say that you get along with someone well. Instead, they say that they fall well with someone. Or, if they don’t like someone, they say that they don’t fall well with someone,” Merlin mumbled.

“Yes. It’s a rather charming way of putting it,” Mars agreed.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“I speak many languages. I’ve had to find ways to entertain myself somehow.”

He laughed weakly. “Same.”

“What made you think of that?” she asked him. 

“I think we fall well together.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I kicked you out of the shop.”

She smiled and pushed her hair back. “Well, in all honesty, I did rip off my shirt in the middle of your store, right smack in the middle of open hours. It was the least you could do.”

The drowsiness he felt coming on was either from the euphoria kicking in or the medication that Merlin had been given. Regardless, the universe felt different, and Merlin couldn’t have been more relieved. 

Kilgharrah’s promise had held.  
 


	6. Chapter 6

Visiting hours ended long after Merlin had fallen asleep and Mars knew that she would receive hell if she left when one of the nurses woke Merlin up to make sure that he was doing okay. To avoid this, she slipped out a few minutes before he was due to be woken, which coincided with the end of visitors’ hours. Not wanting to leave him wondering what happened, she scribbled down a quick note on his whiteboard, explaining that she had to leave because visitors’ hours were over and that she would be back in the morning. 

Luckily, the walk from the hospital to the bed and breakfast wasn’t terribly long. At some point, she would have to carry on with her journey as she usually did, even though it felt wrong to do so. She couldn’t stay at the bed and breakfast for much longer without the woman who ran it demanding a higher fee because Mars was essentially becoming a tenant. Without a job, renting an actual place was out of the question too. 

The only reason she had been able to run around the country as she had been doing was because her parents had given her a “peace offering” when she finally became qualified to be a GP. The strings that had been attached with the “gift” had been that she had to use the money for the travels to and from interviews, the cost of living while she was busy hunting for a job, or a deposit for a flat. 

Mars, who had never actually intended to use the money for any of those purposes, never intending to actually accept the money, had managed to figure out a way to get around those mandates. For all her parents knew, Glastonbury had a fantastic career opportunity for her. Not that they knew where she was.

She knew that she had two more days at the bed and breakfast before she would have to figure out her next course of action. Assuming things went well with Merlin, leaving Glastonbury would not be a viable option. But Glastonbury didn’t have much for Arthur, which was a problem. She could become a tramp and live out on the streets, but she would never hear the end of her parents’ nagging and demands for her to return to Manchester, which would never happen in a million years. 

The people never seemed to figure out that paying her off was not an effective way of rebuilding (better yet, building) any sort of relationship with her. Mars was not after her parents’ money. Her sisters were, but Mars did not have any intention of going after the money. Years of fancy schools and designer clothes and lavish gifts left Mars feeling even less human than when she started this life. 

All Mars had needed was just someone to talk to. Someone who knew her as intimately as she knew herself, without all the bogus of getting to know the actual person. Someone who she could have absolutely nothing with, but have everything at the same time. She knew she would be far richer with just that one person than she ever could with all the money and things in the world. 

No one in this family she was born into understood that concept, so she had spent her entire life grieving for them. 

On her way back to the hospital the following morning, Mars stopped into the little café across the street from Merlin’s shop for a cup of tea. She would have gotten something for Merlin, except she wasn’t sure what his preferences were. He had preferred a very particular type of tea, one that probably wasn’t even around anymore, but with all the options now, the odds were against her. 

The morning was brisk; autumn surrounded her and wrapped her in its physical chill but visual warmth. Hues ranging from Pendragon red to the gold of Merlin’s eyes hung in the trees that lined her path. Perhaps this was why Merlin had chosen to live here. 

Upon arriving at the hospital, Mars signed in and headed to Merlin’s room. She stepped into the room and found that Merlin was sitting with his legs dangling off the side of the bed and watching the door expectantly. “Well, someone’s ready to go,” Mars observed.

“Visitor’s hours started over an hour ago. Why are you late?” Merlin demanded.

Mars frowned and glanced down at her paper cup. Had she said that she’d be back when visiting hours began? “I’m sorry. I had a bit of a late start this morning. Plus, the scenery is a bit distracting. Have they brought along discharge papers?”

“Yeah. You need to sign them.”

“Why do I need to sign them?” she inquired.

He scratched at his stubbly jawline absently, clearly trying to shirk the question. When that didn’t work, Merlin stammered: “Um… well, I may have put you down as my spouse.”

Mars froze with her cup almost to her mouth. “Pardon?” 

Merlin pushed the file across the table and handed her a pen. “Technicalities.”

“No… not really.”

“It’s not like we’re actually married,” Merlin insisted flippantly.

Mars set her cup down on the table and flipped through the stack of papers. “Bloody hell, Merlin. You’re expecting me to actually sign this? I’m supposed to sign this saying that my surname is Ambrosius? You do realize how many levels of illegal this is, right?”

His eyes quickly flashed gold and he winked at her. Mars intended to scold him for irresponsible use of magic, but instead, she made a rather unattractive choking noise. “Technology takes all the fun out of magic,” he lamented. 

“Merlin. This is illegal,” she hissed.

“It’s fine. I told them you’re going to take me home, but we’re newlyweds, so your name hasn’t been changed on all of your documentation, but we’re in the middle of getting it handled.”

“But we’re not married. Not even a week ago, you had no idea who I was.”

“True. That’s not an issue anymore. Now, would you please sign the paperwork so we can leave?” 

“Why did you put my name on this?”

“They needed an emergency contact. I don’t have anyone who I could put as an emergency contact.”

“Then you put me down as a friend. Not a spouse,” Mars muttered. 

“Are you going to sign it?”

She let the stack of papers fall closed onto the table. The frown was certainly the same as Arthur’s. “Merlin, I know, from a professional perspective, just how much trouble this could get us in. This is considered falsifying information. I can’t condone this.”

“What if I change what you’re listed as on the paperwork?”

He could see the gears working in her head as she pondered this thought. “Fine. But to acquaintance or coworker, or something not as committed as spouse or family member,” she replied.

“Fine. Friend it is,” Merlin replied.

His eyes shone gold and the papers fluttered with a nonexistent breeze. To verify that he had kept to his word, Mars flipped through the pages and confirmed that he had changed her status to friend. Wordlessly, she picked up the pen and signed the documentation. “Now, do we just wait for the nurse?” 

Merlin nodded and shuffled his toes along the linoleum floor of his room. “Is that from Marjorie’s shop?” he asked, gesturing to her cup.

Mars glanced at the paper cup in her hand. “Is Marjorie the one who runs the café across the street from your shop?”

“Yeah. Nice woman. Runs a fair business. I’d choose her over Starbucks any day.”

Mars chuckled. “I should have known you’d be more of a grassroots sort of fellow.”

“Grassroots sort of fellow? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, avoiding the big man, rooting for the little guy?”

“I know what grassroots means, Arthur.”

They both stiffened at Merlin’s slip-up. “Oh. Um… well… this is uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine,” Mars insisted. “I’ve had so many names, even I can’t keep them straight.”

“But I just called you Arthur, and your name is Martha.”

“My name, to you, can be Arthur. I’m Arthur, may as well skip all the other aliases and stick to what is tried and true.”

“But won’t you find it a bit odd? You know, being called Arthur instead of Martha?”

She stepped forward, acting as though she were about to reveal the deepest secrets of British national security. “I absolutely detest the name Martha. Mars is only nominally better. Arthur, now Arthur is a fine name, and if you would like to call me Arthur, I wouldn’t mind in the slightest.”

“Right then. I’ll call you Arthur then.”


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin knew that he was in for it when Martha—Arthur—led him home and tucked him into bed. She had made him tea, preparing it almost better than he did. She had busied herself in his kitchen, ignoring his protests and pleas to not dirty the kitchen, to make him toast. She hadn’t been as successful in this venture as she had been with making the tea (the stench of burnt bread lingered in the house for two days), but it was the effort that counted. She had let him sleep and had collected his post and had sat by his bedside while he was dozing, sitting vigilant.

He didn’t mind that his kitchen was undoubtedly a mess or that he thought that maybe she had surreptitiously moved in with him and was sleeping on his lumpy couch. He didn’t mind that she was as quiet as a mouse most of the time, because he knew she was there. He didn’t mind it when she sang in the shower. As it turned out, Arthur had a lovely voice. 

Monday rolled around, and after a few days of the shop being closed because of Merlin’s injury, he was ready to get back to the shop. Arthur had showered and was sitting at his kitchen table, using a step-ladder as a seat because Merlin only had one kitchen chair, drinking tea and eating bread with peanut butter slathered on. Merlin assumed she hadn’t wanted to set off the smoke alarm again by making toast. 

“Morning,” he murmured as he shuffled into the kitchen. 

His routine was absolutely wrecked, but it didn’t bother him as much as he had thought it would. There was still water in the kettle, so Merlin didn’t bother with doing more than plopping a tea bag into a clean mug and pouring the rest of the water into the mug. “I’ve got to go to the shop today.”

Arthur glanced up from her tablet (apparently, she had figured out Merlin's passcode for the WiFi) and frowned. “I don’t think you’re ready to get back to work.”

“What? It’s been five days.”

“You were in the hospital.”

“Arthur, I have to get back to the shop. I’m the only one who works there.”

“Then why don’t I go and work in your stead today? You stay here and take another day off, and go back tomorrow?” she suggested.

He scoffed. “Arthur, you do know what I do, right? I own an apothecary. What do you know about herbs?”

“I have ample experience with herbs.”

“Like what? Pepper? Basil?”

She tapped at the screen of the tablet and returned her attention to Merlin. “I will have you know, I was a healer twice. And, I’m a doctor now.”

“Being a doctor doesn’t really help here. And when were you a healer?”

“The first time was during the Crusades, the second time was during the Bubonic Plague. I died from that plague.”

Merlin eyed her warily and took a sip of tea. “I think the point of being a healer is that you don’t die from what you’re trying to heal people of.”

“I didn’t get that memo,” she quipped.

He smiled and sat down at the table. “Well, at any rate, I suppose having an extra set of hands wouldn’t be horrible.”

“Wait… today? No, I can handle it.”

“Arthur, what if you kill someone?”

“What do you have that would kill someone?”

“See? You don’t have a working knowledge of what herbs, given at certain doses or administered in conjunction to other herbs, could kill someone!”

“You’re right. I don’t know that off the top of my head. However, I do know that someone who has suffered a concussion as worrisome as yours should not be gallivanting about. You should be resting.”

“I need to be at the shop today. It’s been too long, and some of my regular customers are in need of their regular herbs.”

Arthur sighed and drummed her fingers against the walls of her mug. “Fine. But you’ll be sitting down most of the day and I’ll be doing all the running about.”

“Well, that’s a change,” Merlin mused.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Arthur, we both know that I probably wouldn’t listen to you anyway.”

She shot him a look, and that was that. 

Since they still had yet to scratch the surface of what they had missed during their time apart, they were both at a loss of where to begin. There were literally millions of things they could deliberate over, but neither of them could figure out where to begin. 

Which is why they began with pop culture. 

As it turned out, Arthur was extraordinarily knowledgeable about pop culture. She was well read in history (explaining that if she hadn’t gone into medicine again this lifetime, she’d probably be a historian as she had been back during the 18th century). Merlin was impressed by how much she knew and how she conversed about it. He had always been under the impression that Arthur was not a very scholarly soul, choosing to devote his time and attention to tactical maneuvers and training. 

While on the topic of pop culture, they found themselves talking about more contemporary topics. Arthur was appalled that Merlin had never read the Harry Potter series. “How have you managed to avoid reading the books? I’d think, you more than anyone, would really enjoy them.”

“I dunno; never really thought of it. I’ve always seen the books as overhyped children’s literature.”

Arthur made a choking noise. “Overhyped children’s literature?” she squeaked. “Have you lost your mind?”

“What’s so special about the books anyway?”

“They are brilliant! Hell, you’re even referenced a few times!”

“Of course I am,” he sighed.

“Oh, come on. You haven’t even seen the movies?”

“Arthur, do I look to be the sort of person who would go to the cinema?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, I haven’t. Not since motion pictures first came out.”

“Liar.”

“No, really, I haven’t gone. No interest.”

“Well then.”

She was further appalled when she realized that Merlin knew next to nothing about pop culture. He had read the classics, knew all about the government and followed politics closely, but if you asked him whom his favorite contestant on Britain’s Got Talent was, he couldn’t answer you. Arthur figured he didn’t even know what YouTube or Facebook were. She was as old as he was, but even she had a Twitter account. She’d have to get him sorted as soon as possible and show him all the things he had missed simply because he had been blind to the world around him. Herbs could no longer be his entire life. 

On the note of herbs, Arthur watched as Merlin cut up some herbs and packaged them, she remarked: “You know, you should really consult with the writers of Doctor Who. I find blinding disparities in almost every episode, but I don’t think I would be really reliable, since my memory might not serve me well. But yours… your input would be valuable.”

“Really? Doctor Who?” Merlin muttered. “Be a little more sensible, Arthur. Did you see the episode they did about Morgana and Mordred?”

Arthur snorted with laughter. “I did. Absolute rubbish! Morgaine? Really? Morgaine? I don’t think they even tried to get anything right!”

Merlin broke into a grin, and for the first time in a very long time, it was genuine. A strange feeling settled in his chest and at first, he didn’t recognize it. But the feeling welled up until he could no longer withhold it, and he burst out laughing. And because the feeling was so foreign, he doubled over and laughed until he was crying. It had honestly been centuries since he had last laughed until he cried. Every time he glanced at Arthur, he would fall into another fit of giggles, never able to escape from them. Finally, after maybe five minutes of giggling, he settled down on the stool next to Arthur and tried to recover his composure. 

“You all right there?” Arthur asked as she reached over and pulled out a tissue for him.

He took it and dabbed under his eyes as he nodded. “It’s been ages since I’ve done that,” he admitted. 

With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall of drawers and sighed contentedly. When he glanced over at Arthur, he found that she was watching him intently. “What?” he asked her.

“You’re a mess.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re an absolute mess. You haven’t laughed in ages? You live alone? You’re content with living alone and not laughing?”

His expression sobered. “It’s not by choice, you know.”

“I can’t possibly imagine what else it could be,” she replied.

“You know a great deal about history. Your knowledge base is incredible. But some things cannot be explained via the content of textbooks. You especially should know what it means to live throughout history, throughout all those tumultuous periods of time, and know to stay out of it, because if you invest too much in it, you’re only going to get hurt again,” Merlin explained. 

“I’ve never stayed out of it.”

“You haven’t?”

Arthur shook her head, and Merlin was momentarily distracted because noticed that in the light of the shop, her brown hair looked red. “Every time I come back, it’s always for the same purpose. Albion’s in great need.”

“That’s what Kilgharrah promised,” Merlin murmured.

“Who’s Kilgharrah?”

Merlin remembered that he still had not told Arthur that hadn’t died when Arthur had ‘killed’ him. “Um… no one.”

She eyed him for a moment, but returned to mirroring Merlin’s actions. “Every lifetime has coincided with some major event in British history. I didn’t understand why I kept coming back to fight until I had done it about seven times, and I realized that my only purpose for living was to serve Britain.”

He watched as she cut up leaves, impressed by how quickly she was picking up the technique. Maybe she had actually been telling him the truth when she had insisted that she knew what she was doing. 

“But, what really worries me is that I haven’t figured out why I’m back this time around. I was born in 1990, which made me far too young to go into the service after September 11th. So, I went through medical school, hoping that maybe that would be where I would find my purpose. Nope. And now, here I am, and I’ve found you after looking for you for centuries and I’m petrified when I think of what that means.”

“You don’t think it’s for a good reason?”

“Oh, no. I think it is for a very good reason, but that reason may not have a positive outcome. Whatever is coming our way may be outright dreadful and I don’t want to think of it. The world is becoming increasingly unstable, and with nuclear warfare becoming more and more of a threat, god… the fact that I’m alive now should scare people witless.”

Merlin leaned forward and clasped his hands between his legs. “Things between us were never meant to go smoothly, were they?”

“I don’t think so. That’d mean that the universe was showing us mercy, and well, that’s never going to happen.”

Even though Merlin was still riding on the high from being reunited with Arthur and the flurry of excitement that from reacquainting himself with Arthur, an uneasy feeling settled. She had a very good point about returning. Merlin had anticipated Arthur’s return for ages, watching as huge uprisings and violence came to the world he knew, wondering at what point the atrocities would justify Arthur’s return to the living. Nothing thus far had justified it before now, when it wasn’t clear what Arthur had returned for. 

He determined that he wasn’t going to think about it. As long as things were peaceful and there was no need to dwell on it, he was not going to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I haven't given a clear timeline for this story. Arthur/Mars/Martha/whatever you would like to call this character, is twenty-six at this point in time. Because she was born in 1990, this would mean that the story is set in 2016. Just a slight detail that might make things clearer further into the story.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of drug use/abuse and drunkenness

Five weeks after Arthur moved into the house, taking the guest bedroom, for whatever reason, Merlin decided he was going to go to the pub. “The pub?” Arthur asked him.

She stood in the doorway as he pulled on a graphic tee (one of his favorites that Arthur wasn’t terribly fond of, which made him like it even more) over his head and hunted for a pair of jeans. “Have you seen my jeans?” he asked.

In the last five weeks, Arthur had insisted that Merlin update his wardrobe. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone who can pull off velour anymore,” she had explained to him on the morning his wardrobe died a brutal death. 

Arthur tossed one of Merlin’s preferred jackets onto a pile of clothes that looked to consist of his entire wardrobe. “Arthur, I don’t care about being fashionable.”

“Well, at the very least, you should be concerned about the moth holes and frayed ends of some of this clothing. A lot of this looks like you haven’t bothered to take care of it. For example, this shirt… what in god’s name warrants this stain?”

She pointed at a ferociously red stain that took up most of the front of a white shirt that Merlin had worn maybe thirty years before. “I meant to get around to fixing that.”

“You’re a pack-rat.”

“I am not.”

“Are too,” she replied. 

She pulled out a hideous orange sweater with green pockets. “I can’t even tell when the hell this would have been fashionable.”

“That, I will admit, was a poor choice,” Merlin replied. 

After dragging him to some clothing stores, forcing him to try on a whole bunch of clothes that he was expecting to hate, he had managed to acquire a new wardrobe. And he didn’t hate the clothes. He had discovered these things called vintage tees, which weren’t actually vintage, but had pretty cool graphics on them. Of course, he didn’t understand many of the references the tees made, but that didn’t matter. Arthur explained that he looked like he was in his mid-twenties, and in order to keep up appearances, he should really try to keep up with contemporary fashion. “You don’t have to make it super trendy. But something that doesn’t involve velour or burlap sacks would be good.”

“Since when did you become so appearance-conscious?”

She laughed. “I have two sisters who are obsessed with fashion and looks. Though, ironically enough, they might like the velour jackets. Personally, I’m not a fan.”

He had gotten some clothes for work. Arthur hadn’t really had an opinion about work attire, especially since he owned his own business and it wasn’t terribly important that he dress according to a dress code. He had seen enough young guys walking around in button down shirts and slacks to know that that was usually acceptable work attire. The t-shirts were cool, but if he had to go through and update his wardrobe, he might as well invest in some attire that would maintain a certain degree of professionalism at the shop. 

From that experience, he now had several pairs of denim jeans (which looked considerably different than the denim jeans that Arthur wore, and he couldn’t figure out why), two pairs of trousers for work, half a dozen plain t-shirts, four or five t-shirts with graphics on them, four dress shirts, and a blazer. Arthur had also tossed in a package of socks, scolding him for wearing socks that had more holes in them than Swiss cheese. 

Now, as he dressed, he really needed to find at least one pair of jeans. Arthur replied with: “In the wash.”

“In the wash? What am I supposed to wear then? I can’t go in my pants.”

“You do have two pairs of jeans.”

“But those are my favorite jeans,” Merlin whined. 

Arthur rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re such a child sometimes.”

“Arthur, this is a problem. I can’t wear my work trousers to the pub. I’ll look like a freak.”

“Oh, I don’t think people will notice your trousers with the shirt you’re wearing. They’ll be more drawn to the koala wearing a safari hat than your trousers.”

“It’s a cool shirt,” Merlin replied adamantly. 

“You look ridiculous.”

“I don’t care.”

Defeated, Merlin pulled the clean pair of jeans, his least favorite pair, from the dresser. He stepped into them and fastened up the zip. “Did you take my belt too?” he asked accusingly.

“For what purpose would I need your belt?” 

“I dunno. For what purpose would you need my jeans?” he countered mockingly.

Arthur shook her head in disbelief and stepped out of the doorway. “Have fun at the pub,” she called behind her. 

Apparently, he took her advice, because he was gone for several hours. When he finally turned up, it was nearly midnight and he was in a frightful state. He came stumbling into the room and very nearly tripped over a chair. Arthur stood up from the chair she was sitting in and went to go stabilize Merlin. “Okay, let’s get you to bed,” she chirped as she wrapped her arm under his and helped prop him up.

Slowly, he found his feet and they walked up the stairs and made their way to Merlin’s small bedroom. The mattress was old, but the bedding was clean and Merlin kept his room relatively tidy. Arthur, while still trying to keep Merlin on his feet, reached over and pulled the covers back. “Sit down on the bed, and I will take off your shoes,” Arthur instructed.

Rather than sitting down on the bed as Arthur had advised, Merlin flopped onto his back. He began to giggle hysterically. As soon as Arthur had both of his shoes off and had tucked them away in the wardrobe, he stopped laughing and sat up. “Arthur?”

“Yes?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. It was obvious that there was something drawing on his mind, but Arthur suspected that even he were in the most sober of states, he wouldn’t be able to formulate what it was he wanted to say. “Never mind,” he mumbled before lying back down. “Night.”

“Good night, Merlin,” Arthur replied as she turned off the light and closed the bedroom door behind her. 

She left the door open a little, in case there was any reason for Merlin to leave the room but couldn’t figure out how to use the doorknob. 

Twenty minutes later, there was a loud crashing noise coming from the garden. Alarmed, Arthur jumped out of her seat and raced to grab something that could be used as a weapon. Fortunately, a rolling pin was at hand, and while it certainly wouldn’t be useful against someone who had a far more substantial weapon, she felt better about having it. She approached the door cautiously and flipped on the outside light. When she didn’t see anything from that, she became a little more daring and opened the door.

She stepped outside and looked around the corner of the house. Merlin froze when he saw her with a rolling pin held at the ready. “Oh. Hello,” he chirped. 

“What are you doing, Merlin?”

“Shh… don’t tell Arthur, Gwen, but I’m going out.”

“And where are you going?”

“I have a bet to settle with a gentleman I met at the pub.”

“Oh, really now? What is the bet about?”

“He bet me that I couldn’t drink five pints without getting completely knackered.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, so I have to go show him that I’m not knackered,” Merlin slurred.

“Right. Get inside Merlin.”

“No, Gwen, I can’t! Don’t tell Arthur.”

“Hate to break it to you, Merlin, but I am Arthur. You’re talking to me right now.”

Merlin laughed and began to hiccup. “No, Arthur’s a man! You’re a woman, Gwen!”

Arthur sighed and marched over to Merlin. “Good heavens, you’re just a bunch of trouble, aren’t you? How did you manage to get out here without me knowing?” 

“I climbed out the window,” Merlin announced gleefully. 

“Of course you did,” Arthur sighed. 

She’d had sons who had done the same thing. One boy she had, who later went on be an architect, had the habit of climbing out of windows that she and her wife (this had been the last lifetime, when she had last been a man) were driven to installing bars on every window in their house. That boy broke both his arms one summer, and they were certain that he had learned his lesson about climbing too high into trees until he fell and broke his wrist the very next summer. 

Arthur led Merlin back to his room and closed the window and made sure it was locked. Of course, Merlin was probably quite capable of unlocking the window, but she hoped that the extra step would deter his efforts. Merlin stood behind her, watching her fluid motions of closing and locking the window, and when she moved back to put Merlin to bed, he moved towards her. Arthur wasn’t sure what was going on until Merlin had his arms around her waist, his hips flush with her body, and was looking like he had every intention of taking her to bed. 

“Whoa now!” she exclaimed as the koala in a safari hat came towards her face. 

The koala in a safari hat was quickly replaced with Merlin’s face. She held up a hand and pressed him away from her. “Whoa now, Sorcery Boy… I know it’s probably been a while, but we are not going to have any of that nonsense. To bed with you!”

“That’s my point,” Merlin slurred as he attempted a wink.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Arthur advised as she set him down on the bed, and again, removed his shoes. 

Merlin leaned down so that his face was level with hers. “Come to bed with me?” Merlin asked her in what Arthur presumed he thought was a very seductive voice. 

His breath reeked of the alcohol he had consumed, but Arthur was used to drunken men. She’d seen far too many in all the lives she had lived, and Merlin was no different. He was a little loopier than some of the drunken men she’d put to bed, but now that he was getting a little randy, the familiar exasperation and frustration that came with dealing with people in this state was coming back to her. And here, she had thought that her days of putting drunken boys to bed were over. 

“Go to sleep Merlin. I’m serious. Go to sleep,” Arthur ordered in a firm voice. 

She went as far as tuck the blankets in around him, hoping that he couldn’t get out of the tangle of blankets. There was a bucket on the bedside table, in case he needed to vomit. As she left the room, she flipped off the lights again and closed the door behind her. It was entirely possible that Merlin would try to escape again, so she was on the alert for any abnormal noises coming from the rest of the house. An hour later, she headed to bed herself. She checked on Merlin and found that he was asleep. 

Relieved, Arthur undressed and changed into a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt from university. She pulled her hair from the messy bun she had coiled it into a few hours before and let the messy kinked and curled locks fall to her shoulders. After brushing her teeth and popping in the retainers she had had since university, Arthur crawled into her tiny bed and read for a little while longer before she turned off the light. 

The door opening woke her. The dim light from the moon coming in from the window, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a slender silhouette crossing the small room. “I can’t sleep,” Merlin mumbled as he pressed down on her bed. “Can I sleep here?”

Half asleep, Arthur sighed and squinted at him. “What?” she hissed. 

“Can’t sleep.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Can I sleep here?” he repeated.

“Ugh… fine,” she grumbled as she scooted over in bed. 

There wasn’t much room, but Merlin climbed into the bed roughly and settled right beside her. For whatever reason, he didn’t have his head up on the pillows as Arthur did. Instead, he decided to curl up towards the foot of the bed, with his head resting right beneath Arthur’s arm. Based on the events from earlier in the evening, Arthur might have suspected that Merlin was being fresh with her and would try to cop a feel, but when his breathing changed almost immediately, and Arthur realized he was snoring, she relaxed and eventually fell back to sleep. 

When morning came a few hours later, Arthur awoke to the distinct awareness to the fact that she was having difficulty breathing. Upon further inspection, she realized that Merlin was draped across her, most of his upper body over her with his head nestled between her breasts. And of course, he was dead to the world. But, he wasn’t dead, and that was a plus. 

Because he was out cold, Arthur was able to slip out from underneath him and pad quietly out of the room to go use the toilet. Once she was done, she popped into his room to see if anything changed after she left, beyond the fact that Merlin was no longer in there. After a brief inspection, she couldn’t find anything different so she returned to her room. Merlin was lying facedown on the bed, with both arms dangling over the edges, but because the bed was up against the wall, the arm that was on that side of the bed was climbing up the wall. 

Arthur glanced around the room, trying to find her phone. She remembered it was downstairs, so she quietly hurried down to get it. When she returned, Merlin had moved once again, so she had missed her chance to snap a photo of him in his state of glory. 

Disappointed, she padded over to her wardrobe and pulled out an outfit for the day. Not concerned about Merlin seeing her without a top on, she whipped off her shirt and tossed it aside before she plucked a bra that was hanging on one of the hooks on the inside of the wardrobe door. She slipped her arms through the straps and hooked the back together before she scooped her hands down the cups to adjust her breasts. After wriggling around a bit to make sure that she was properly in the bra, she pulled on a long sleeved shirt. 

She heard a soft moaning noise from the bed. Arthur turned to see that Merlin had brought his hands up to his head and his face was pulled into a grimace. He twisted in the bed and buried his face in the covers. Of course his head would hurt; the hangover he would have from all the drinking he did was bound to be legendary. 

Reluctantly, she approached the bed and gently placed a hand on Merlin’s head. “Are you okay?” she asked him quietly.

A muffled whimper was the response she received. With a sigh, she sat down on the bed and tried to figure out what to do. Thinking back to when she had dealt with sick children, spouses, friends, or anyone else whom she considered kin or was caring for, Arthur began to run her fingers through his hair. Merlin’s body relaxed and she could have sworn that she heard him sigh contentedly. 

He was certainly asleep, but he rolled over, almost as if he was inviting Arthur to rejoin him in the bed. It was only polite, considering he had hijacked her bed in the middle of the night. Arthur slipped back into bed, propped up by pillows, and read a book as she resumed to pet Merlin’s head. 

Because it was Saturday, there was no need to leave the house to open the apothecary. So, they stayed in her bed long after it was probably appropriate for two adults of their age. But, she got quite a lot of reading done (she had been reading a book on herbs and natural medicines) and Merlin was able to sleep off more of his hangover. 

When he awoke, he blinked and tried to focus his eyes enough to determine where he was. As soon as he realized where he was, he moved away from Arthur, pushing himself up by planting a firm hand on her hipbone. Arthur pulled her hand away from his head and put her book down. “Well, hello there,” she greeted him with a laugh. “So, all those times you were supposedly down in the tavern… were those all for not?” 

He groaned and let himself fall back down onto the bed and Arthur. Arthur winced as he fell onto her. “Ouch,” she hissed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into the blankets. 

“It’s fine.” Arthur patted his head and picked up her book again. “You climbed out of a window last night. I don’t know how you managed to do that, but do you remember that?”

He tilted his head up at her, resting his chin on the blanket. “Why am I in your bed?” Merlin asked suddenly, completely ignoring her question. 

Arthur slipped her bookmark into her book and set it aside. Clearly, reading time was over. “You came in last night, claiming you couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes widened in horror. “We didn’t do… anything… right?”

“Merlin, we can barely fit on this bed as we are now. What makes you think we could have done anything else on this bed?” Arthur laughed, deciding not to bring up him propositioning her for sex. 

This seemed to quell his fears, but he still seemed troubled. “I’m sorry for hogging your bed,” he apologized sheepishly. 

“Well, considering you tried escaping last night, I suppose it was a good way of keeping track of you,” Arthur replied. 

“I tried escaping?”

“Yes. You climbed out of a window, and I found you in the garden, trying to sneak back to the pub to settle a wager you made with some bloke. And no, you cannot drink five pints without getting knackered. I don’t know why you would think you could.”

“I climbed out of a window? What window?”

“Your bedroom window.”

“But that’s would require that I jump down from the roof!”

“That’s why I can’t believe you managed to do it.”

He groaned and buried his face into a pillow. “I feel like I’m gonna die,” he mumbled. 

Arthur snorted and patted his back in a steady rhythm. “That’s what happens when you do stupid things.”

“I used to be able to do stuff like that.”

“When? When you were 728?” Arthur joked.

“No… not that long ago. I used to be able to get incredibly drunk and not feel it the next day.”

Her hand stilled on his back. “How long ago was that?”

“Uh, I don’t know. A few decades ago.”

The air felt electric between them as Merlin suspected Arthur had something she wanted to ask but had trouble asking. He turned his head so that he was no longer facedown in the pillow. “What?” Merlin asked her. 

Arthur was chewing on her lip, watching him worriedly. “Merlin, have you ever had trouble with substance abuse?” she asked quietly.

“Substance abuse?”

“You know… alcoholism, illicit drugs?”

“I’m not a druggie or a drunk, Arthur.”

“I know you aren’t. Believe me, I’ve seen druggies and drunks. But I could see the appeal of using substances to dull the boredom or pain. And lord knows that it’s not impossible to get ahold of those things.”

Merlin realized that this had been bothering her for a while. The worry on her face wasn’t indicative of some thought that had crossed her mind as result of him being hung-over. “How long have you been wanting to ask?”

Arthur shifted in bed, stretching her legs out underneath the blankets. “When I first saw you again.”

“What? That long? That was weeks ago!”

“I know… I know. But I know how it is and I’ve always hated it when people asked if I use and I didn’t want to step on your toes.”

Merlin moved away from Arthur. “You use?”

Her face remained neutral and Merlin panicked. “Arthur?”

Finally, her expression changed. “Not in this life. After being an alcoholic in the last life and nearly losing my wife and kids because of it, I swore I would never use again. But it seemed that every life, after I figured out the pattern and general flow of how things went, became less and less worthwhile. It’s easy to fall into the pit and never leave. So, I supposed, since you didn’t have the breaks like I did, that you would have been even more susceptible to falling into that pit.”

He had fallen into the pit. Many times. Of course, the effects hadn’t been as deleterious early on as they were as time had gone by, but he had fallen in. He chose to fall in. He chose to fall into the pit and fester in the negativity, hoping that it would suck away Merlin’s ability to feel. At some points, he had tried to convince himself that it was all ‘experimental’. 

There was nothing experimental about drinking yourself to oblivion or shooting up so you could forget. There was no mental function associated with any of it once the chemicals were in his system. 

“You know… they say that no one gets out without being at least a little screwed up. With that said, what the hell does that mean for us?” Arthur murmured. “Is it possible to be so fucked up that we have a running chance at being normal?

Arthur knew that Merlin had abused drugs at some point. She didn’t need him to tell her about it. There was no way he could have gone that long, perpetually alone, and not fall in. And though she wouldn’t mention this, she had seen the scars from the old and overused track marks on his arms when had been an old man. 

All she wanted to do was to wrap herself completely around him and shield him from the cruel world he endured. She wanted to kick the Earth off his back and relieve him of his burdens. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to take away all of his pain and restore him to the vibrant young man she had known all of those centuries before. In that moment, however, the best thing Arthur could do for Merlin was to lie there quietly and comb her fingers through his hair. The rest of the day was quiet and contemplative as both reflected on their pasts but did not further inquire about the other’s. 

That night, Merlin slipped into Arthur’s room and woke her, asking if he can sleep in her bed again. He proceeded to do this every night for a week before Arthur finally conceded and allowed him to go to bed, in her bed, with her when she went to bed. And every morning, they woke in the same way: Arthur before Merlin, Merlin on top of Arthur as she read a book. For the first few days, it was the herbs and natural medicine book. After the first week, it was a history book. The second week, it was a book about Wiccan practices. The third week brought a book about Druids and their culture. The fourth week, it was a book on managing your own business. 

But by the end of that first month, they had moved from Arthur’s tiny bed to Merlin’s slightly larger, but still too small for two people, bed. And the first morning after they finally came to their senses and realized that there was a larger bed they could share, Merlin woke before Arthur, surprised to find that while she wasn’t on him in any capacity, she was curled up against him, her hands tucked under her chin and hair splayed out on the pillow around her head. Merlin smiled and pulled out the book he had been meaning to read, but hadn’t gotten around to doing so. 

When Arthur woke, she found Merlin reading the first Harry Potter book.


	9. Chapter 9

Though she had acquired many talents over the span of her existence, Arthur still could not, for the life of her, cook. She still nearly set the house on fire whenever she tried to make toast, which was what lead Merlin to bar Arthur from trying to make anything more than a bowl of cereal when he was not there to supervise. 

How she hadn’t managed to learn now to cook was far beyond Merlin, but he pitied those who had relied on her for their meals. He could attest to their uniquely horrid quality, and given the technology of the time, it seemed like there were less ways to screw up meals, not more. But, leave it to Arthur to figure it out. 

After one particularly horrific experience with bacon, Merlin sat at the kitchen table and gaped at Arthur. “Really? You’ve managed to ruin bacon!”

Arthur pushed her hair off her sweaty brow and scowled at him. “Your magic put me off!”

“Your burning of bacon put me off!” he countered.

“Fine. Make your own damn bacon,” she sniffed as she marched out of the kitchen. 

Merlin rose from the table and followed her out. “How did you manage to feed your families? I mean, did your children starve?” 

Arthur froze but did not turn towards him. Merlin had meant it as a joke, but it was seldom that he brought up her family. And with good reason too, because it was clear that her families were a sore subject with her. He didn’t understand why; families were good (most of the time) and love was wonderful (usually, when it didn’t send you to the ground, crippled with emotion) and there was no reason to be ashamed or afraid to talk about her families (unless there was something she wasn’t telling him, in which case, if it was bad, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know). 

“Arthur?”

She closed her eyes and sighed softly. Slowly, she turned around and stared at him expectantly. “You have questions, don’t you?”

“You’ve told me about a few people, but there have to be hundreds, if not thousands, of more people.”

“True. And it’d be impossible to go through all of them. I’m not even sure if I can remember all of them now.”

“But what about the important ones? Like your children? I’d like to hear about your children.”

She shook her head slightly, but the motion was not intentional. “You know Merlin, there is one person I would like to talk about…”

“Who?”

“Gwen.”

“No.”

“No?” Arthur echoed. “Why not?”

Merlin shook his head and waved his hands at her. “We’re not going there.”

“She was my wife!”

“You weren’t there after you died,” he explained, failing to see the humor of his statement. 

“That’s why I’d like to talk about her. What became of her?”

“Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Merlin, I’ve read everything and anything I could get my hands on regarding the legends. And most of them say that she outlived me, but to what extent? They can’t seem to agree on how she was.”

Merlin had dreaded this day. He hated talking about Gwen, simply because of the bitter taste it had left in his mouth. She had done Camelot a great service by reigning as a strong queen after Arthur’s death, but there wasn’t a day that went by that Merlin lamented the reasons she was there, alone. 

But of course, she wasn’t alone. Not for long.

Arthur folded her arms across her chest and approached Merlin. She eyed him warily before she took his jaw in her hand and tilted it down so they were making eye contact. “You’re not telling me something.”

“I told you…”

“I know what you told you. I understand that there may be particular details of your life that you do not care to divulge, but this is my life we are talking about, and I have the right to know.”

“Why don’t you talk about your past then?”

“Because it doesn’t matter to you.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been asking you for ages…”

“None of it pertains to you.”

“But every mother I’ve ever met loves talking about their children.”

“They’re all dead now. Well, maybe in exception to the children I had in my last life, but I wouldn’t know how to go about contacting them. But beyond that, it’s done, it’s over.”

“Why do you want to know about Gwen then?”

“Because I can see it in your eyes that there is something huge that I don’t know, and I need to know what it is,” Arthur explained as she let go of Merlin’s face. 

They did not speak of the matter for the rest of the day. They didn’t speak to each other at all for the rest of the day, which made work at the apothecary rather difficult. Merlin headed home earlier than Arthur, who closed up shop and ended up having to run home in the rain. Merlin had dinner ready and waiting for her when she returned, and they shared a quiet meal. Arthur went to bed first, exhausted from a busy day at the shop, followed by Merlin an hour or so later. 

The storm that had blown in earlier that evening was really quite something. There was thunder and lighting so loud that Arthur had woken with a scream after thunder crashed right over the house. Merlin had woken up and was about ready to attack when he realized what was going on. “It’s only thunder and lighting,” he murmured into the darkness. 

“I know,” Arthur replied quietly. “It scared me though.”

The rain pounded down on the roof, making Merlin quite relieved that he had had the roof updated only a few years earlier. Neither he nor Arthur was able to fall asleep, too distracted by the rain and whatever pressing matters nagged at their brains. Eventually, Arthur eased the static that roused their thoughts by sliding her hand across the foreign space between them and curling her fingers around Merlin’s. 

She did not move closer to him, but the minimal contact between them was enough. That was the strange thing about them; it had never taken much for them to find home. Back in the days of Camelot, simply knowing the general location of the other was enough. But now, as they lay about a foot apart from each other, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating the world, even though they knew exactly where the other was, could hear the breaths of the other, and spent their days together, a simple gesture such as holding hands wasn’t enough to determine what home was. 

There were still too many things that either of them had not told the other, and this hindered their progress home. That was why sharing the bed, spending their days together, and holding hands was so important; it was their means of maintaining intimacy and trust when they were as good as complete strangers to one another. All they truly had were those ten years in Camelot, unless something changed and they let the other in. 

It was difficult. Arthur still felt the pain of losing every family she had had. She had loved and lost just as much as Merlin, but she was far too afraid to tell him this. She was worried that Merlin would see her as Martha or James or Edgar or Miriam, or whoever she was in the past instead of Arthur. That was why she never told him more than he needed to know about her past lives. Of course she longed to tell him of her beautiful babies, all those beautiful souls that had come to her and had filled her with the most wonderful sort of love and pride and purpose, but in doing so, she feared that Merlin would lose sight of who she was and what they had. She was terrified that Merlin would lose faith in who she was and what they had in Camelot and what they would have now. 

Merlin, on the other hand, had lived, for the most part, a very sorry existence. He had loved and lost and as a young man, that hollowed him and haunted him. The sole purpose for his existence had left him far too early, and he had been left to live, forever chasing after the promise that someday, his purpose would come back to him. But, until that time, he would be idle. He would sit, wasting away in the ever-changing world that scared him and made him abhor destinies or the universe. He had come to hate magic, simply because of what it had made him. No average human would be burdened with immortality, but of course, because he was the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, of course, this would be his bane. 

There was no way he could ever convey this to Arthur. Not when Arthur had a burden to bear as well. 

But perhaps Merlin could share something with Arthur, share a bit of his burden with her in the hopes that she would reciprocate. 

“She… she was heartbroken. She was heartbroken until the day she died.”

He paused to clear his throat, and the rain momentarily distracted him. There was no need to look over at Arthur, for he knew she was listening. “She took the throne ten days after your death, sitting more stoically as she ever did when you were alive. But, eventually she softened.”

Arthur’s breathing was steady and deep. Merlin would sometimes count her breaths, using them as reminders for all the life he had lived. He continued with his story after counting five steady breaths. 

“When she fell ill, Gaius feared the worst. He feared that she would die of a broken heart. We had anticipated the day when Gwen would not be able to cope with your death, but when Gaius discovered the root of her illness, everything changed. As it turned out, Gwen was with child.”

Arthur still did not respond. She did not move, she did not hum or grunt in agreement. All that Merlin had to know that she was still there were those precious breaths and warm fingers curled around his own. This worried him.

“The pregnancy went smoothly, and the delivery was to be expected, and nearly three seasons after your death, she gave birth to a son. She decided to call him Amhar. He was the most beautiful child I had ever laid eyes on, somehow looking exactly like you and exactly like Gwen at the same time. I hadn’t been in Camelot much in the months preceding his birth, but as soon as I received word that Gwen had delivered, I returned to Camelot, where I remained until Gwen passed away and Amhar took the throne. After this point, I saw very little reason to remain as a permanent fixture in the court, since most of the people I had returned for had passed on. Amhar led a good kingdom; reigned with an open mind and a good conscience. Gwen did a splendid job. I returned to Camelot a few more times throughout his reign, and I was there when he died.”

There was nothing more to his story, so he fell silent. Through the noise of the rain, the sound of Arthur’s breathing, and the roaring of Merlin’s pulse through his ears, the silence that fell between them was absolutely deafening. But finally, Arthur’s fingers shifted in his hand, and she offered more of her hand to him. He supposed this was her way of acknowledging the effort it took to finally speak those words aloud after all this time of hiding that story away so he didn’t drive himself to madness. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

How fortunate Arthur was that the pounding of the rain would drown out the noise of her crying after she was certain that Merlin had gone to sleep. 

Arthur was awake long before Merlin managed to crawl out of bed the next morning. She hadn’t tried to fuss over finding something to eat and had settled with a cup of unadulterated tea. When Merlin found her, she was staring blankly at the wall and she looked as though she had been crying. “Arthur?”

She broke her gaze and turned toward him. Slowly, she set her mug down and rose from her seat. In a manner that Merlin could only describe as zombie-like, she shuffled toward him and threw her arms around him before bursting into shuddery sobs. As he realized what was going on, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. He leaned down and brought his lips to the top of her head. “I am so sorry, Arthur,” he mumbled into her hair. 

He offered to let her stay home from the apothecary that day, but she simply shook her head and quietly explained that she needed to get her mind off of things. And so they went, walking out of the house hand-in-hand, to the apothecary to start their day. As they walked, people smiled at them, finding something to smile about two young people in love. If only they knew the truth; that if either person let go, they both risked going mad because everything that surrounded them was simply riddled with uncertainty. 

Merlin knew that the pain that Arthur felt in regards to the son she never knew would always be with her, but they had taken a step in the right direction.


	10. Chapter 10

For whatever reason, the weather had decided it was appropriate to bring a heat wave along in the middle of March. As result, Merlin and Arthur found themselves in one of those days where it was just too bloody hot to bother with doing anything, and as Merlin discovered, Arthur interpreted this as a very good reason to not wear pajamas when she came to bed that night. 

Merlin was already in bed when Arthur came into the room, wriggled out of her skirt, whipped off her shirt, and tossed the clothes in the hamper in the corner of the room. Merlin had watched her peripherally, but was pleased to see that she had managed to put her clothes in the hamper. It wasn’t as though he needed any more proof that she was Arthur, but this habit she had of leaving things strewn about was certainly another Arthur-ism, expecting Merlin to clean up after her or something. They had been battling over the proper use of hampers for weeks now, and Merlin was pleased to see that he was finally making some headway in the matter. 

Assuming she was going to put on some pajamas, Merlin returned his attention to his book. However, when she made a beeline for the bed and crawled in next to him without putting on anything over her bra and knickers, he was rather confused. “Are you not changing?”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, as she fluffed her pillow and laid back.

“You’re just wearing a bra and knickers?” Merlin asked her.

“Yes. I can’t even begin to understand why you’re not just in your pants right now.”

“Because… I always wear this to bed,” he explained.

“Well, it’s too hot to wear anything else, so I’m wearing this.”

“Okay then.”

“Night,” Arthur hummed.

“Night,” Merlin replied.

But within five minutes of bidding each other goodnight, it was blaringly obvious that sleep wasn’t going to happen. The power went out, and Merlin’s efforts at reading were cut short. And of course, the batteries in his book light had burnt out a few weeks earlier, but he couldn’t be bothered to get some more batteries. Even though the moon was full and bright, reading wasn’t possible. 

However, the moonlight was bright enough to cast enough light in the room so that Merlin could see Arthur quite clearly. Of course, he could see the bra and knickers, but he could see other parts to her as well. He could see the spotting of moles across her upper abdomen, the evidence that she had had a belly button piercing at one point, the scar from an appendectomy, and of course, the place where Mordred’s sword had gone into Arthur all those years ago. He could see the splay of her hips and the soft hair on her arms and the freckles that dotted her chest and shoulders. He saw the musculature of her thighs and silently appreciated the unassuming strength of her body. 

If he had been told, all those years ago, that Arthur would come back to him in this form, Merlin wouldn’t have believed it. But now, he was starting to see that even though Arthur was not in the form that Merlin recognized, there were similarities between the two forms. As Arthur did in Camelot, this Arthur was quick and calculating in movements, especially when it came to working with swords or rapiers. However, when it came to sleeping, all that grace and control that Arthur maintained was gone with the sprawled-out position that Merlin often found Arthur in. That, and the fact that Merlin was still surprised when he saw Arthur looking at women and making remarks about how attractive they were.

Merlin had never really given much thought to his sexuality. In recent decades, a greater emphasis on sexuality had come about, but even with the changing trends, Merlin remained rather ignorant to his own sexuality. Of course, he had been quite fond of Freya and had noticed some other lovely people, but he had always kept his focus on Arthur. Arthur, after all, was his sole purpose for existence. There had never been time for anyone else. There had never been a need for anyone else. 

But here Arthur was, in this modern, chic, and eloquent form as the only example of the modern woman that Merlin had really had any contact with, and Merlin was still surprised when she was extremely open minded about sexuality. It would make sense; she had originally been a man, and there would undoubtedly still be a part of her that would be attracted to women, but because she had also been a woman, she would be attracted to men too. Thinking of Arthur in such terms as bisexual was foreign to Merlin, who had always associated Arthur with being a man, and here Arthur was, as a woman. The matter was still unnerving. 

Arthur was the only woman he had ever seen in this much (or lack thereof) clothing. There had to be some way Merlin could make sense of all of this. 

It felt wrong to be looking at her in such a state. Those old habits of shying away from women and intimacy and giving people their privacy were eating away at Merlin’s psyche. Merlin knew that Arthur was comfortable around him, comfortable with sharing herself stripped of the façade because she knew Merlin could see through it anyway. 

When he thought more of it, he realized he wasn’t uncomfortable with Arthur’s confidence and prowess; he was uncomfortable with his lack of confidence and prowess. He respected Arthur’s ability to work with people and her savvy means of communicating. She, more than anyone, could read body language and use that to her advantage. In her element, Arthur was a force, unlike anything Merlin had ever encountered, to be reckoned with. 

The Arthur of Camelot was a capable and strong leader. He had been misguided and foolhardy at times, but usually had been able to command people with a look. His presence was larger than he was, and everything about him commanded respect. Now, he was a she, and she was much smaller, but she still commanded just the same amount of respect. 

She was something else. In the last few weeks of living together, Merlin had discovered just what it meant to live with both Arthur and a woman. It was astounding to realize that the last person Merlin had lived with was Gaius, and before that, his mother. He didn’t know why he hadn’t lived with someone else all this time, because it was nice hearing someone walk around upstairs, up and down the stairs, through the kitchen, through the house in general, and to see signs of life beyond his own. 

He didn’t care that Arthur left her books open on the kitchen table. Hell, the second he saw two of her medical texts lying open on the table, he had gone and retrieved a chair for her. Arthur had an affinity for yogurt. Merlin had never tried the stuff, but when he saw the container in the fridge, he had tried a bit of it and really enjoyed it. So, they now had this strange yogurt stuff in the fridge. He now even had granola in his yogurt in the morning. 

Just more than three months ago, he wouldn’t have given the woman laying next to him in his bed a second glance. She would have just been another woman on the street, nothing spectacular or important. And even though she was the sole existence for Merlin’s being, he still couldn’t explain the scars on her body or why she wore her hair the way she did or why she didn’t talk to her family. They had gotten better at telling each other stories from their pasts, but they were far from knowing every last detail. Merlin hoped for a thousand more years with Arthur simply so they could get through everything, and then a thousand more years after that, to catch up on their lives together. 

Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Based on the pattern of her breathing, Merlin knew she was asleep. He still felt guilty about looking at her, examining her in such a vulnerable state. There were still things that they hadn’t established, boundaries that they hadn’t created because they didn’t know that they were needed. Merlin felt as though they needed to establish something for this situation. 

Eventually, he drifted to sleep, trying not to dream about Arthur and her breasts.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of assassination and murder. Nothing graphic.

Merlin spun around and found himself eye to eye with Arthur. Not Martha-Arthur, but Arthur-Arthur. His blond hair was blowing in the wind, his red Pendragon cloak billowing out behind him. He was every bit as Merlin remembered, but why he was here, in the middle of this battle, was beyond Merlin’s comprehension. 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked hesitantly.

“Merlin, go find her… me. In the future. Go find future me. I need you. Now.”

“Arthur, where are you going?” 

“Merlin, it’s fine. Everything is as the destiny says.”

“Arthur, where are you going?” Merlin repeated, his anxiety pouring out of him with his words. 

In that moment, as Arthur, Merlin’s Arthur, stared him in the eye, trying to will Merlin to motion, something changed. Subtle as it was, Merlin sensed a change in his world. Arthur stepped towards him. “Merlin, everything that we are meant to do, it hasn’t happened yet. Make sure it happens. Make sure she lives.”

“But it’s you.”

“I’m not real.”

“But I see you. Arthur, this is you.”

“It’s a dream, Merlin.”

Merlin woke to Not-Camelot-Arthur shaking him violently. “Merlin, wake up now!” she hissed. 

Startled, he opened his eyes to see that Arthur still hadn’t dressed, but was looking very alarmed. “What? What is it?” Merlin groaned.

“It’s the Royal Family.”

“What about them?”

Arthur set her tablet, which Merlin hadn’t realized she had with her, down on the bed in front of him. “The entire family has been illegitimated. The line of succession has been eliminated, and members of the Royal Family have been stripped of all titles.”

Merlin sat up and braced himself on his elbows. “What are you talking about?”

“The prime minister has gone after the British Royal Family and has abolished the monarchy.”

“Wait…”

Arthur paused and took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking and it was obvious that there was something she hadn’t said. “Arthur, what’s happened?”

“The thing is, they’ve eliminated the monarchy through assassination.”

And there it was. Merlin sat straight up in bed and grabbed Arthur’s tablet. “Shit,” he muttered as he rapidly scanned through the story. 

“But that’s not all,” Arthur murmured. 

Merlin glanced up from the tablet. “Arthur, the entire nation’s gone into meltdown. What more could there be?”

“There are reports that there have been attacks on monarchists. It’s not clear who is doing the attacking, but known monarchists, especially in the House of Lords and House of Commons, are being attacked or killed. Merlin… I’m worried.”

Though the question was stupid, Merlin found himself needing to ask. “Why? This is all in London.”

“No, Merlin… it’s not just in London. It’s everywhere.”

“How?”

“Well, beyond the obvious issues that come from the prime minister has essentially unilaterally changed the government overnight by having ten of the most important people in Britain killed, do you realize what this means for everything?”

“Arthur, it’s going to be resolved. The UN will step in and…”

Arthur laughed bitterly. “I’m sure the UN will come in and things will calm down, but until then, the killing will not stop. The government has just essentially legitimized the killing of monarchists. Merlin, you are a monarchist.”

He snorted. “They don’t know that.”

“You fly the monarch’s flag at the shop. It’s prominently shown in the shop.”

“They’re not going to come after a lowly shopkeeper.”

“They’re not going to judge who you are. It doesn’t matter who you are. You support the monarchy, and therefore, you’re the enemy.”

“You support the monarchy.”

“I am the monarchy,” Arthur spat. “And I’d prefer it if I wasn’t killed for it.”

And then it hit Merlin. “Arthur… you’ve said that you didn’t know why you were called back…”

“I know.”

“Is this it?”

“I think so.”

A strange feeling filled Merlin’s body. His nerves tingled and he started feeling a bit lightheaded. He remembered the dream he had had and wondered if maybe Arthur had something to do with Arthur’s, or rather Mars’, rude way of waking him up. 

“Get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs,” Merlin said. 

The next few days were filled with terror. Of course, the shop had been an easy target. Merlin and Arthur had headed to the shop during the middle of the first night to collect anything that was of particular value, knowing that at some point, the shop would invariably be vandalized. The second night, it was. 

On the third night, things got a little too close for comfort. A group of unidentifiable people trespassed on Merlin’s property, jumping the fence and crossing through the pasture. Merlin and Arthur hid in a closet for nearly ten hours until they were certain that they were safe. It was at that point that Arthur decided it was time for them to leave.

“It’s not going to get better.”

“But leaving? Arthur, I’ve never been able to handle leaving the shores of Avalon for very long since you died.”

Arthur stopped throwing clothing into a backpacking bag and looked at him. “Is that why you’re here? Because this was Avalon?”

“It’s still Avalon. It just looks a bit different.”

“So they were right about Glastonbury?”

“They managed to get that right.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t be gone for long.”

“Arthur, we will be fine.”

“I don’t know, Merlin. I have seen a lot of stuff like this, and killing people for their beliefs doesn’t sit well with me. We would have avoided a lot of wars if people could just get along.”

“We are both old enough to know that that’s never going to happen.”

“I never said I thought it would.”

They finished packing without conversation. It was imperative that they leave at dawn, so they ate a quiet dinner and went to bed early, resting uneasily. At dawn, they did one last quick sweep of the house, making sure they had everything they would need and Merlin cast some spells on the house to protect it as much as possible while they were away. Without knowing how long they would be gone, it was difficult for Merlin to walk away into the sunrise. 

He hoped he would see his home again.  
 


	12. Chapter 12

They hiked for several days, trying to avoid as many people as possible, until they were finally just out in the middle of nowhere. 

But, as much as they had tried to avoid people, it was inevitable that they would come across some people, and when they did, the people were quite hospitable. It was through talking to people that they got the shock of their lives. 

“The Prime Minister has taken the throne,” Ethel, one of the women who had taken them in for the night, informed them. 

Ethel set tea down in front of them. “She has?” Merlin asked. 

“Why would she take the throne after going after all the monarchists? That doesn’t make sense,” Arthur added. 

Ethel shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want the old monarchists going after her, but wanted the throne.”

“Have they found Prince Harry?” Arthur asked.

“He’s still not accounted for.”

“Well, hopefully he’s gone into hiding. Do you think the military would take care of him?” 

Ethel smiled sadly. “One can only hope.”

They stayed the night with Ethel and as a means of expressing their gratitude for her hospitality, Merlin repaired her dying rose bushes with his magic, enriching the soil the bushes were in so that they would be hardier than ever. It was the least he could do given the circumstances. They headed out early in the morning, onward to their unknown direction. Merlin seemed to have some idea of where they were going. 

“Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?” Arthur called to Merlin sometime around dusk on the sixth day of hiking.

“Of course we’re going in the right direction.”

“But we’re walking west. Towards people.”

“I know where we are going!” Merlin insisted. 

Arthur sighed but kept going. Eventually, it was time to stop off, take a load off, and get some rest. They came across what looked to be a small community of travellers, an unexpected sight after walking through empty pastures for the better part of the last few days. “Should we walk through and ask where we are?” Merlin asked as they stood on a bluff overlooking the community. 

“I thought you knew where we are.”

“I said I know where we are going. I never claimed to know our exact location.”

Arthur rolled her eyes and thought for a moment. “Merlin, these are travellers. They might not think too kindly of us just barging through. If the monarchists are being persecuted, I can only imagine what the prime minister would think of the travellers. They’re rather like the Druids.”

“The Druids?”

“You know… persecuted for their beliefs.”

“There are still Druids, you know.”

“I know that. But my point is, they are probably going to be very guarded about having intruders coming on through.”

“Ah, I see your point.”

“Right. So, I suppose we could ask; I mean, I’m sure it’s not uncommon to have people passing through, especially now, but we need to make it clear that we are only passing through and that we have no intention of encroaching on their space or putting them in any danger.”

“You’re really apprehensive about this, aren’t you?”

“Merlin, this is a tyrant we are talking about. I’d appreciate it if you were a little apprehensive too.”

“Oi! I’m not saying that I’m not apprehensive… I’m just not as worried as you are. You act like this is a different breed of people, when they are no different than you or me.”

“I’m going to have to say that they’re a little different from you.”

“How so?”

“Well, everyone seems to be a little different from you.”

“Are you insinuating something?”

“The fact that you’re fifteen hundred years old and have magic? Have you forgotten that part?”

“I really don’t dwell on it.”

“But you’ll dwell on the inaccuracies of Harry Potter, droning on and on about that for ages?”

“You have to admit, if the author had done her research, and all of her research, her spells may have been more accurate!” Merlin explained.

“It’s a fiction book!” Arthur exclaimed. “Of course it’s going to have inaccuracies!”

“But it references me and my beard!” 

“Merlin, every bit of literature and piece of art that references you also references your beard. Your beard is legendary!”

He chuckled, pleased to know that he still could grind Arthur’s gears with highlighting the blinding disparities and errors of Harry Potter. She had been so adamant about him reading those books, and here he was, now able to use it against her. It was the small things that made him happy; it had always been the small things. 

They headed down the hill into the little valley where the caravans were lined up in an orderly manner. Arthur seemed especially worried, but Merlin couldn’t place why.


	13. Chapter 13

Carolina and Joseph were kind people. Joseph had seen the two ‘pilgrims’ descend the hill and had asked them their purpose. Initially, he had been wary of these two young people, fearing that they were with the government and looking to seek out any unsightly pests. “Can I help you two?” he called out when they were close enough to hear him.

They seemed exhausted. The bloke was a tall, scrawny guy with dark messy hair. He towered over the woman he was with, a considerably smaller person with hair that fell past her shoulders in unruly waves. It was obvious that they had been wandering for some time, based on the wane expressions on their faces and paled enthusiasm. “We’re only passing through sir. We don’t mean to trespass,” the woman replied respectfully. 

“Are you monarchists?” Joseph asked as they closed the gap.

Joseph hadn’t meant to alarm them, but the woman physically moved off course when he asked. “Uh… um…” the bloke had stammered.

“We’re not going to hurt you. What right do we have to hurt people for what they believe when people want to hurt us for what we believe?” Joseph assured them. 

“Have they been coming after you too?” the man asked.

Joseph shook his head. “I suppose that’s next,” he admitted. “We’ve come out here to get away from the rest of the country until things settle down. Are you doing the same?”

“They attacked our shop,” the woman explained. “We flew the monarch’s flag, and a few days after the assassinations, the shop was pillaged. It was only a matter of time before they came and got us at home.”

Joseph nodded and held his arms out. “Come on inside. My wife is making dinner and it looks like some you two could use something to eat.”

“Oh no… we wouldn’t want to impose. We’re only just passing through,” the woman insisted.”

“Nonsense. You’re about to collapse. Shrug off the weight of the world and enjoy a nice meal. Do you like meatloaf?” 

Arthur and Merlin looked at one another, and finally, Merlin turned to face this strange man. “Thank you. We would be delighted to join you and your wife for dinner. Thank you for your kindness.”

Joseph smiled and showed them the way to his home. “My name is Joseph Patterson. My wife’s name is Carolina. We have three boys: Hamish, John, and Eddie.”

“This is Martha and I’m Merlin,” Merlin replied.

“Pembroke,” Arthur added, simply as a means of giving Joseph a bit of information in return for his hospitality. 

They were strangers and anything they could do in order to establish some sort of kinship with these obviously very scared people was going to behoove them. 

“Martha and Merlin Pembroke. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Joseph said. 

After acquainting themselves with Carolina and the three Patterson boys, they sat down to the first warm meal they had had in days. Merlin couldn’t remember having a more delicious meal, and Arthur was glad to be inside. All those nights spent outside were really starting to take a toll on her. 

They enjoyed a hearty meal and Joseph explained that while there wasn’t much room in their home for them to sleep, he supposed that the man who owned the property wouldn’t mind if they pitched a small tent next to their caravan. “He’s a good fellow. He’s got a bad hip, but otherwise, good man. Warm heart,” Carolina explained. “Will you need any blankets or anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur replied. “Thank you though. We are very grateful for your hospitality.”

For the first time in over a week, they were able to have a reasonable restful night of sleep. Even more surprising was when Carolina woke them up asking if they wanted breakfast. 

Over breakfast, they discussed their lives further and it came up that the man who owned the property, an older man who lived alone, was really having trouble with his hip. Joseph had gone down to help him do some lifting and work around the house, and expressed concern for the old man. 

“We’re both doctors. Do you know if he’s seen a physician?” Arthur asked Joseph.

Joseph shrugged. “I mean, it’s possible, but it’s hard getting to and from here. It’s at least an hour away from any sort of medical help.”

“I wonder if we could help him,” Arthur remarked.

“It’s possible. After breakfast, I’ll go take you down to him.”

The three of them headed down to the tiny house at the bottom of the valley surrounded by towering hills. At first, the house didn’t seem like much, but as they got closer to the home, Arthur seemed quite keen on getting there. “Merlin, I think we’re going to find something here,” she whispered to him.

“Of course we’re going to find something here. There’s a man who lives here.”

“No, I know that, but I think we might know who this is. I’m getting a weird feeling about this.”

“Good or bad feeling?”

“I think it’s good. But I’m not sure. I’ve met this person before, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen them, so the sense I’m getting is a bit antiquated.”

“Antiquated?”

“Rusty, you know?”

“But that would impede on your ability to determine if it was a good feeling or a bad feeling?”

“These things take time.”

Joseph appeared to be ignorant to their hushed conversation, and stepped up onto the front porch of the tiny house. It really was too small to be called a house; shack was probably a better word for it, but it wasn’t shabby. The house was well kept and it was obvious that whoever lived here took pride in his home. “Mr. Jones?” Joseph called. “We’ve got some visitors who would like to meet you!”

They waited with bated breath until the door opened and a surprisingly young looking old man appeared at the door. “Ah, Joseph. Lovely to see you today. Will you be able to help me with getting the fence finished later on tomorrow?” 

“Absolutely sir,” Joseph answered respectfully before he gestured toward Merlin and Arthur. “Sir, these people are Merlin and Martha Pembroke. They’re passing through, trying to get away from the… persecution. They’re both doctors and wanted to see if they could help with your hip. Carolina and I were telling them about your hip and they thought they could help.”

The man peered around Joseph at the two strangers and it was clear that something clicked. His face lit up when he saw Merlin and Arthur’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” she breathed.

“Merlin!” Mr. Jones exclaimed. “Oh, my boy!”

“Wait… what?” Merlin asked quietly.

“It’s Gaius,” Arthur explained and pushed him forward. “Go, go!”

Joseph watched in confusion. “Do you already know Mr. Jones?” 

“It would appear so,” Arthur replied. “He was a dear friend of my husband’s when he was younger.”

“But you didn’t know where he went?”

“I suppose they lost touch.”

This answer appeased Joseph, who quietly left the house. Before he left the porch completely, he looked to Arthur and said: “Hopefully you can help the old man. He’s a damn good man.”

“We’ll do what we can,” she assured their host. 

Gaius and Merlin had stepped into the house, leaving Arthur alone on the front doorstep. Because the door was left open, she stepped in and closed the door behind her. The house was cozy, not unlike Gaius’ chambers at Camelot. His bookcases were stuffed with books and diagrams and Arthur found she was very much at ease in this home. Merlin, on the other hand, looked incredibly lost and seemed like he was going to run away at the first chance he got. 

Eventually, Gaius (known as Guy in this life) came to learn Martha’s true identity and how Merlin and Arthur were reunited. Merlin had not told Gaius of the Great Dragon’s prophecy, but somehow, Gaius seemed to know that something great was upon them. They spent the day catching up and when evening came, he graciously made dinner for the three of them. 

“So, you’re on the run,” Gaius asked when they sat down for dinner.

His hip seemed to be doing better. Merlin had cast a few spells to help with the joint and Arthur had done a bit of physical therapy to determine the mobility of his leg. The limp was still evident, but with time, that would abate.

“They’re not keen on the monarchists.”

“And yet, she’s become the monarchy,” Gaius mused. “Hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“Incredibly,” Merlin agreed. 

“What was the final push to leave?”

Arthur glanced up from her stew. She had been uncharacteristically quiet all afternoon, after seeing a picture in an old newspaper of the Prime Minister. The woman had killed people so she could be queen, so she could begin an unjust regime. It felt all too familiar.

“Don’t you know who this is?” she asked them quietly. 

“Who?”

“The Prime Minister… or whoever the hell she thinks she is now. Don’t you know who this is? Doesn’t it ring a bell with you?”

Merlin and Gaius glanced at each other before they looked back to the woman who was slouched in her seat, barely picking at her stew. “Arthur?”

“It’s Morgana. I’m certain.”

Merlin frowned and leaned back in his seat. “She’s dead.”

“That is probably the most unintelligent thing I have heard out of your mouth. I died. Gaius died. Morgana died. And look at us all; we’re all here.”

Gaius watched the young woman explain things to Merlin. He hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the thought that the brunette was Arthur reincarnated, but there were very telling signs that they were the same person. “Merlin, I need you trust me on this.”

“But wouldn’t you have sensed her earlier?”

“Not necessarily. I didn’t sense Gaius until we stepped onto the property last night. I just saw a photo of her.”

“Wait, you haven’t seen photos of her?”

“I didn’t vote in the last election. I was too busy getting through my exams to bother.”

“So you haven’t had any clue who was Prime Minister?”

“I knew who won, but I didn’t actually see any photos of her until that newspaper over there.”

“But you’ve kept up on all the news surrounding this, and they must have shown her photo a hundred times.”

“The media is very strict about what is going in and out, Merlin. That paper over there is over a year old. It was from when she was still running for office. It’s a candid shot of her leaving some sort of an event. If you look at it, you can see distinctly that they have the same eyes.”

“Let me see.”

Arthur stood up from the table, setting her napkin next to her bowl, and retrieved the article for Merlin. She tapped at the picture with one of her travel-ragged nails and watched intently for his reaction. Slowly, he took the paper from her and moved his face closer to examine the photo. “I mean, the paper isn’t in great shape, but I can see your point.”

“It’s her, Merlin. I’m certain. It’s all far too coincidental for it not to be her.”

Gaius watched the two, interested in how they were interacting with each other. Their body language reflected the trust they had in one another, and when Arthur moved closer so that she was standing behind Merlin, Merlin didn’t flinch. Her hair fell over her shoulder and hung alongside Merlin’s face, and Merlin did not react initially. Though it was subtle, Merlin’s eyes flicked up to her face and for the briefest of moments, Gaius could see the pure adoration in the man’s eyes. It was only then that Gaius allowed himself to believe that this woman was truly Arthur Pendragon. 

Never had Gaius seen Merlin look at anyone else like that. And if Merlin acknowledged that this woman was Arthur, Gaius was inclined to believe the same. Not even Gwen had known Arthur so well. 

Merlin glanced up at Gaius. “Gaius, do you have an internet connection out here? I think we need to do a bit of research.”

Gaius nodded. “It’s slow, but it’s better than nothing.”

He hadn’t been lying when he said it was slow. Merlin had forgotten how atrociously slow dialup Internet connections had been, and he had been using the Internet for as long as the Internet had been available to him. Though, for the sake of his sanity, he decided that he would try to speed up the connection with his magic. If it didn’t serve his needs for long, it might benefit Gaius later on. 

A quick search on the Prime Minister proved fruitful. Arthur’s point about the media being stingy about what information was presented about one Margaret Le Fey. The videos he found were quite telling. He could see what Arthur meant when this woman shared Morgana’s eye color. Then again, it wasn’t as though he had ever made an effort to willingly commit her eyes to memory. There was no reason to do so. 

Arthur would remember her eyes though. Arthur would remember the cold emptiness that had once been full of warmth and light, chilled by the drastic change Morgana had undergone in her fall to disgrace. 

“You really reckon it’s her?” Merlin asked later on, as they prepared for bed.

She spread a blanket out over the couch and reached over for another blanket. “Couch or floor?” she asked him.

“Floor. But what about Morgana?”

“Merlin, it’s her.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“But how can you be sure?”

“Merlin, it’s all too convenient for something like this to happen.”

“Sure, but what if we’re wrong?”

“So?”

Merlin watched as Arthur laid out their bedding. She tossed him a pillow from the stack of linens that Gaius had lent them, and took the other one to set up on the couch. After the couch was set up, she laid down on the makeshift bed on the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked her. “I was going to take the floor.”

“I know.”

“Arthur, you can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“Merlin, you don’t have to keep me on a pedestal.”

“What?” 

He stepped over her and sat down on the couch roughly. Arthur pushed her hair back and looked up at him. “You don’t take anything for yourself. Your life isn’t your own, and that’s not fair.”

“My life is not my own? How do you figure?”

“You refuse to take the better thing for yourself.”

“Arthur, it’s the difference between the floor and a couch. It’s not like I’m choosing the dregs of hell over the floor.”

“But it’s always been like this.”

“Yes, because my purpose is to serve you. It’s always been that way.”

She frowned and looked away. Merlin poked at her shoulder. “What?” he asked her.

“You’ll never figure it out, will you?”

“Figure what out?”

For a moment, he was sure she wasn’t going to respond. She settled into the blankets and adjusted the pillow accordingly. “You, in ever sense of the word, are the most powerful human to ever live. You should take the couch every now and then.”

“But what if I don’t want to take the couch? What if I prefer the floor?”

“You shouldn’t. The carpet smells weird.”

He sighed and leaned back into the couch. “Arthur, you don’t get it. This is my entire life. Everything my life has meant has been because of you.”

“You could do so much better than that.”

“How do you figure?”

She rolled onto her side and her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m a crutch. I’m not the sole reason for your existence. Even if that’s what the legends and prophesies say, you shouldn’t have ever allowed me to be the only reason you live. What a horrid way of living? Hell, I don’t even consider myself the sole reason for my existence, so there is no reason for you to consider such an absurd thought. You’re scared and unsure of yourself, but there is one thing you’re certain of: me. Therefore, you’ve fixed onto the notion that you can’t do anything for yourself unless it somehow benefits me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Why haven’t you fallen in love? Why have you been alone all this time? It’s not like you’re some ogre. It’s not like you couldn’t have anyone you would want.”

“Don’t. Do not go there.”

“Why not? You nag me about my past. Why can’t I nag you about yours?”

“It’s not the same thing!” he exclaimed.

Arthur brought a finger up to her lips. “Shh… I don’t want Gaius to come out here thinking that something’s wrong.”

He nodded curtly and leaned forward so that his head was about a foot above hers. “No one wants to be with a crotchety old man.”

“You weren’t always like this. You weren’t always a crotchety old man. At one point, you were a vibrant young man.”

“Well, that’s what a thousand and some odd years does to you. It drains you of all that vibrancy.”

Her eyes were still closed, but she still managed to make an expression that demonstrated her doubt. “You’ve become a crotchety old man because you allowed yourself to become one.”

“Arthur, what is your point? I’m afraid I’m not seeing it.”

Finally, she opened her eyes and braced herself up into a semi-sitting position. “I’ve had this sickening and heavy feeling that you haven’t lived your life because of me. And I don’t like that. I really don’t like this feeling. And I know you could never openly blame me for how things happened in your life, but deep down, you must feel some sort of resentment.”

His posture softened. “I don’t resent you, Arthur,” Merlin replied quietly. “I could never resent you. How my life happened was my own doing and there was nothing you could have ever done to change that.”

“But you could have. Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“It was easier to be an old man living by a lake that slowly turned into a flat plain, forever immortalized by legends. It was easier to live alone and commit myself to a simple, tedious life that didn’t require effort. Sure, I could have married and had children, but that would have required immense amounts of effort that I just couldn’t bear to endure.”

“I wish you had,” Arthur murmured. “That way, it would be more equal between us. I never feel like we are equal, Merlin. And I don’t know what more I can do to help negate that feeling.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s all I ever do,” she sighed before she rolled over so that her back faced the couch. 

Merlin didn’t sleep well that night. He was kept awake by obsessing over Arthur’s words. She wasn’t on a pedestal. No, not at all. She was important, but not on a pedestal. Though, the more he thought of it, it was easier to see her point. Merlin had forgone all those normal human activities for the sake of if Arthur returned. Merlin had once thought of marrying and having children, but when he thought of what could possibly happen if Arthur returned and Merlin had children, it would have been absurd and irresponsible to go running to save the day with a baby strapped to his back with a wife and four other kids running alongside. 

Merlin had always had prioritized Arthur, and admittedly, when he heard of all the lives that Arthur had lived without Merlin being a primary focus, he had been jealous. There had been jealousy when Arthur married Gwen, but that wasn’t necessarily because Arthur was going off and starting a new adventure without him. It was more because it meant that Gwen was going to take over much of the role that Merlin had held before the marriage. Arthur wasn’t going to need Merlin as much as he previously had, when Merlin still needed Arthur as much as ever. 

There were times that Merlin was disheartened by the fact that Arthur knew far more about the world than he did. Merlin thought himself a very well learned man who had a very good grasp of the world. But then again, a collection of facts and book knowledge hardly surmised that Merlin knew anything about living. Of course he would be this person: the man who was given so much life forgot how to live. 

When Arthur rolled over and curled up into the fetal position because she was cold, Merlin moved to give her his blanket. And then he heard her voice at the back of his head: “You don’t have to keep me on a pedestal.” 

Of course he had to keep her on a pedestal. There was absolutely no denying that she was the most important thing in his world, and even if he tried, there was nowhere else she’d fit. Merlin had to keep Arthur above the rest of his life because he couldn’t bear to mix the rest of his life with the part of his life that had Arthur. 

Cautiously, Merlin sat up and glanced around the room. The room was quite chilly, and it didn’t look as though there were other blankets around. He brainstormed for a moment before he decided that she didn’t need to be on the floor. Neither of them needed to be on the floor. 

Fortunately, she was a sound sleeper. It was seldom that she would wake in the middle of the night, and he hoped she would keep to this pattern. When he lifted her up, still surprised by how light she was in comparison to Arthur’s old form, she hardly stirred and he was able to bring her up onto the couch. The fit was tight, but there was absolutely no reason why they weren’t both able to be on the couch. 

He pulled the blankets over them and nestled into the back of the couch. The space between Arthur and the edge of the couch left much to be desired, so he curled his arm around her to keep her from rolling off the side. They had never slept in this position before, and Merlin wondered why. It was perfectly comfortable and organic. If they ever made it back to Glastonbury (had a home to go back to in Glastonbury), he was going to make an effort to continue this. 

A few minutes later, his brain quieted down and he was able to fall asleep. 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Dismay struck Merlin with a low blow as soon as he woke up and found that Arthur was gone. Initially, it was unclear as to where she had gone, but with very minimal investigation, he found that her bed was neatly set up on the floor next to the couch. It did not appear as though she had fallen off the couch, because everything seemed deliberately placed, as if she had returned to the original sleeping arrangements during the night. She was clearly trying to prove a point. 

Gaius and Arthur were busy preparing breakfast in the kitchen, quietly talking amongst themselves. When Merlin entered the kitchen, Gaius turned around and beamed. “Ah, there you are, my boy! Come, sit. We’ve made breakfast!”

“Arthur cooked?” Merlin asked sleepily. 

“She’s rather handy in the kitchen,” Gaius informed him.

Merlin yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Really? You don’t say.”

He pretended not to see her glaring at him from over Gaius’ shoulder. Clearly, this day had gotten off to an excellent start. Instead, when Gaius placed a plate of warm and delicious food in front of him, he smiled and murmured thanks. 

Gaius sat down next to Merlin, but Arthur did not join them at the table. “Why aren’t you eating?” Merlin asked.

Arthur pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “I promised Carolina I would help with the children today. A few of them are sick and I can tell that they need an extra set of hands.”

“When did you talk to Carolina?”

“This morning, when you were still asleep. I went out for a walk.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, Merlin. I am capable of going places without an escort.”

“I know… it’s just odd… you know?”

“Afraid not.”

Her tone was unwelcoming and chilly. Something had gone terribly awry in the last few hours and Merlin wasn’t about to call her out on it. Some things were best left untouched until they could be handled properly. “Oh well. Go. Have fun. We’ll see you later,” Merlin answered dismissively. 

She flashed them a terse smile before she let herself out of the house. Gaius watched Merlin watch Arthur leave the house, but did not say anything. Instead, he pretended that his toast was the most fascinating object he had ever come across. 

A few hours later, Merlin stared out the window, watching as Arthur played with some of the children. Arthur had never struck Merlin as the sort of person who would be comfortable around children, but a lot had changed since Camelot. It made sense that Arthur would be better with children, considering she had presumably been a parent many times before. 

Gaius sat down across from Merlin and handed him a mug. Merlin glanced up at Gaius and smiled. “Ah, thanks,” Merlin murmured as he took a sip.

Gaius grinned in return and tracked Merlin’s eyes as Merlin turned his attention back to whatever was happening outside. “It’s strange; you are so much older, but you are still so young,” Gaius mused.

Merlin turned back to Gaius. “How do you mean?” 

“Does Arthur know?”

“Does Arthur know what?”

“Your feelings.”

Merlin’s brow creased and he looked at Gaius questioningly. “Gaius, what do you mean? My feelings about what?”

“You aren’t fooling anyone.”

Merlin laughed uncomfortably. “Gaius, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Does she know how you feel about her? Or him… I’m still not quite sure what to say about that.”

“Her. I think. I actually have never asked.”

“Do you ever speak of it?”

“Of Arthur being a woman now? No. Not really. It’s too weird.”

“I can’t see how it wouldn’t come up.”

“There are a lot of things that we do not speak about.”

“But Merlin… Arthur’s a woman.”

“Yes.”

“And you clearly love Arthur.”

Merlin’s body tensed and he felt his pulse quicken. “Gaius, I don’t know what you are talking about,” he answered hastily.

“Like I said; you aren’t fooling anyone.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone. What makes you think I love Arthur?”

Gaius smiled knowingly and stood up from his seat. “Merlin, how long has it been for you? Waiting for Arthur, I mean.”

Merlin let his gaze fall to his lap and examined the callouses on his palms. “I don’t know… centuries.”

“At least fifteen hundred years, no?”

“About that, yeah.”

“Fifteen hundred years of waiting. I can’t see how that wouldn’t take its toll on someone. Whatever did you do with all that time?”

“I dunno… I collected herbs and wrote down a bunch of stuff.”

“You collected herbs and wrote down a bunch of stuff? Surely there was more to what you did.”

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair before he rested his head on the table. “I… I didn’t interfere, if that is what you mean. I didn’t want to leave the lake. I didn’t know if Arthur would just come walking out of the lake one day, and as time went by, the more and more important I found it to stay there. So, I did. I spent all those years by the lake, waiting for Arthur’s return. And when Arthur did, it wasn’t as I had anticipated for all those years. It was simply Arthur, who is known as Martha in this lifetime, running after me down the main street through town, hollering that she was Arthur Pendragon reincarnated and that she knew me.”

Gaius laughed heartily and took a sip from his mug. “Somehow, she strikes me as the sort of woman who would do such a thing. But she is, for the most part, very much Arthur Pendragon.”

“She still has the mark.”

“The mark?”

“Where Mordred’s sword went into Arthur. She has the same mark. She’s always had it.”

The older man set his mug down on the counter and added some sugar to his tea. “A constant reminder, no?”

“Always. It’s awful.”

“But you two seem to be back to where you were before his death.”

“Yes and no. I mean, for someone who is supposed to have such a deep connection with someone, neither of us are feeling really connected right now. It kind of comes and goes in waves. And neither of us really know when we’re going to be on par with each other.”

“I suppose that’s natural.”

“Whatever natural is in this case,” Merlin laughed. 

He stirred his tea absently with the spoon he had used for adding sugar. Even though the tea was the right temperature and the sugar had long been dissolved, he still stirred. It provided him with some form of distraction, which he could use quite a bit of at the moment. Arthur was out being nurturing and kind and it wasn’t helping Merlin at all. He had done something to upset her, and he couldn’t figure that out either. “She’s been a mum before,” he blurted out. 

“That much is obvious. I don’t think the children would be as drawn to her if she weren’t. If she were still the same Arthur Pendragon as we knew, those children might be running the opposite direction.”

Merlin nodded quietly. He took another sip of tea and swallowed roughly. “Do you think it’s Morgana behind this? I mean, Arthur believes it’s her, but…”

“Did you two have a row?” Gaius asked unexpectedly. “When I came out into the kitchen this morning, she was sitting here alone and she was quiet when we were making breakfast.”

The question surprised Merlin. He hadn’t thought it was so obvious. Then again, he was pretty ignorant to anything outside of Arthur’s existence, and this usually included everyone else. However, considering it was Gaius, Merlin really shouldn’t have been surprised. Gaius always knew more than he let on. 

“She’s upset that I never married or had children. But I couldn’t have ever married or had children. It was never a matter of disinterest; I simply prioritized Arthur over having a family of my own. And she thinks that I resent her because she was able to go and have those things. She had a lot of families.”

“Do you resent her for that?”

“Of course not! Why would I ever resent her for that? We went for more than fifteen hundred years without our paths crossing. How ever could I resent her for living? I mean, I’d probably be upset if she hadn’t lived.”

“So you’re admitting that she has a point?”

Merlin stilled and blinked at Gaius. “Well,” he began slowly, “she does. But what she doesn’t see is the fact that everything has been because of her return. Everything I have done in my life is to make sure that when she came back, she wouldn’t be alone.”

“Arthur would never be alone. It’s impossible for Arthur Pendragon to ever be alone. People gravitate towards Arthur. They always have, and they always will. They sense the power in those eyes and that is what causes people to respect Arthur.”

“I didn’t want Arthur to feel as though I had found a replacement.”

“Well, I can only imagine you succeeded in that venture,” Gaius remarked sadly. 

“One of my few successes,” Merlin admitted. 

Gaius patted Merlin on the back. “Go talk to her. You need some air anyway. It’s a lovely day and staying cooped up in here like an old recluse like me isn’t going to do you any good.”

“But what about Morgana?”

“It’s Morgana, Merlin. We all know it’s her. Different body, different time, different life, but the same exact thirst for vengeance and power. We can talk about this later, but for now, you and Arthur need to discuss your relative differences. I won’t have you two bickering and avoiding each other.”

“Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”

“Humor me, Merlin.” 

And so he did. 

Merlin left the house and went walking through the rest of the camp. Most of the people, especially those who were old enough to know what was going on in the world outside of their sanctuary, wore wane and worried expressions. They smiled when their children smiled or laughed, showed keen interest when the little ones came running up to them to show them a found treasure, but for the most part, were burdened by the uncertainty of their futures. 

Arthur played with the children. She grinned and laughed along with the children. Her face showed none of the signs that the other adults wore, and for the first time in a few days, her smiles were uncalculated. Merlin knew that they weren’t going to be able to talk about what had happened the night before. 

Later on that evening, they discussed their plans with Gaius. Arthur expressed a desire to continue their way towards the coast, not quite sure why she wanted to go, but explaining that she felt that there was something to be found there. Merlin expressed his concern with heading away when they still really didn’t know the situation very well. Gaius served as a mediator between the two, and eventually, it was settled that Arthur and Merlin would leave the next morning. 

That night, Merlin took the couch while Arthur went to the home of one of the families staying with the caravan group. The family had a very young child suffering from colic and Arthur was helping the new mother cope with her child’s needs. But it served as a good break for them, so when they met up the next morning, packed and ready to head onward, Arthur was less hostile towards Merlin and vice versa.  


	15. Chapter 15

“So, Gaius said that Camlann is near here?” Arthur gasped as they finally reached the top of the unexpectedly large hill.

Merlin nodded without turning around to face her. He stood, hands on his hips, staring out at the flat plain. Arthur sidled up next to him and coughed. “Merlin, I don’t think we’re in the right place,” she informed him.

“This is the place. Gaius said this was the place,” Merlin assured her. 

“No, Merlin, it’s that way… west of here.”

He turned to look at Arthur, who was pointing out at the plains to the left of them. “You doubt Gaius?”

“No, of course not. I think he was right about the general location, but we need to head west.”

“Why? How do you know?”

“A feeling.”

“Oh, a feeling?” Merlin mocked. 

“Piss off,” Arthur snapped as she marched away from him.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To Camlann!”

“Arthur, this is Camlann!”

“This is not Camlann. Maybe we’re nearby, but this is not Camlann.”

Merlin let her walk away as he began to explore the area. She was really starting to get on his nerves and he was certain that if they kept at this, it was not going to end well. 

He looked out at the expansive hills and fields around him. The area was only mildly familiar to him, but much of Britain looked like this. Sometimes there would be sheep and trees, occasionally a forest to cross through, but this was pretty standard. 

Arthur didn’t seem to be coming back to where they had started. He could see her marching away, out into the hilly fields, and she probably expected him to follow. She probably knew he would follow anyway. The pedestal comment still felt as acidic as it had when she first said it. 

It took him a few minutes to catch up with her. “Arthur! Why did you sleep on the floor the first night at Gaius’?” he called out to Arthur as he closed the gap between them.

She stopped walking. “What?” she called back. 

“Why did you get off the couch? You were on the couch that night.”

“Yeah… why was I on the couch? I don’t remember getting up there.”

“You didn’t. I put you onto the couch. You were cold.”

“I told you I was fine sleeping on the floor.”

“But you were cold.”

“Merlin, I had a blanket.”

“Yes, you did. But you were curled up in a ball and shivering. There weren’t any other blankets, so I decided to use body heat instead of blanket.”

Arthur nodded mutely and continued walking. She fiddled with her fingers and looked around at the landscape around them. Merlin quickened his pace and stepped in front of her. Walking backwards had never been a strength of his, but he was confident that he could manage for a minute or so. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Merlin, I can take care of myself. I managed to raise thirty children—and that was just when I was in the lives when I was a woman—so I certainly don’t need you coming along and saving the day every time something is mildly amiss. It’s a little insulting to my capacities.”

“I’m not saying that you’re not capable of taking care of yourself…”

She stopped walking and braced his arm. “You care too much about the wrong things. You place emphasis on the wrong things. You’re blind to what you need to see more than anything else in this world, and you spend too much time mulling over things that do not concern you. That’s why I wish you had been married. That’s why I wish you had had children. I cannot be your entire focus. You have never been my entire focus, and it kills me to think that you have spent hundreds of years glommed onto this notion that when I returned, everything would be perfect and the sun would hang higher in the sky than it had ever hung before, that rainbows and sparkles would explode from immense happiness, that everything would be different than it is now. Merlin, I don’t like being coddled. I adore you, but we need space. I need to be able to breathe and trust that you’re not going to suffocate me.”

“You need space?” Merlin repeated slowly. 

His grip on his backpack straps tightened and his knuckles turned white. He took a cleansing breath that seemed to have the opposite effect. Arthur only stared at him. “I’ve waited over a thousand years for you, and suddenly, you need space?” he yelled. “Why am I not surprised? Arthur Pendragon’s world isn’t as he wants it, so everyone must drop everything and fix it for him!”

Arthur stood silently, stiffening her posture. Her face remained neutral, but she was biting down on her tongue as much as she could bear. It became difficult to breathe and she felt the tears biting at her eyes. Crying was not an option. Weakness was not an option. Not now. Not when Merlin was like this. Not when everything was at stake. 

“I’m not asking you to fix it. I’m asking you not to fix it. I’m asking you to step away from this and not touch it.”

“I can’t not touch it! I have to fix it! That’s all I’ve ever done!”

“Then… stop. Don’t fix it. Don’t come near it. Resist the urge and do something for yourself for once,” she answered quietly. 

“What makes you think I do this for you, and you alone?”

“You said I’m the reason you’ve done everything.”

“Yes, because if I didn’t have something to live for, I wouldn’t live. That’s not because of you. That’s because of me. That’s because I have something to live for, but if I die, that doesn’t work. It’s not just because of you. It’s always been about us. You and me. Having space between us doesn’t work, Arthur. Space between us is what got you killed in the first place. Not being honest with each other was what got you killed in the first place. Do you not fucking see the big picture here? How can you… I mean, how damn naïve can you be? I thought you were intelligent and aware of the world around you, but now, well, now I’m not so sure.”

“You couldn’t have prevented Mordred’s actions. Mordred was going to do that whether you were there or not.”

“That’s not true.”

“Merlin, what happened has already happened. I understand that it was traumatic and there really is no way of ever coming to terms with that.”

“I could have killed Mordred when I had a chance and you would have lived.”

“But at what expense? At what cost would that have come?”

Merlin threw off his backpack and stormed away from Arthur. “Where the hell are you going?” she screamed after him.

“I have no fucking clue!” 

Arthur had two choices at this point: one, go after him; and two, keep on her path. On the one hand, she felt inclined to go after Merlin. But on the other hand, she wanted to punch his face in. And since he had such a lovely face, she figured she would do better to keep going on her intended path. Worst case, she’d just go back to Gaius if she couldn’t find Merlin later. 

She walked for ages, keeping along an undetermined path through grasses and stones, passing through what she believed were ancient pastures where ancient peoples had lived. She could almost imagine her subjects living here and working these lands. She could hear the livestock and people in the forgotten streets and villages of this land. She could feel her heritage and her inheritance lifting her spirits and calling her home. 

Eventually, she stopped for the night and set up a makeshift camp under the endless sky. Merlin’s pack had their pup tent, but her sleeping bag was warm and she had her sleeping pad. There was some food that Gaius had sent with her, and she was comforted by the fact that Merlin had some food on him in case he had returned to his pack and found that she wasn’t sitting by, as obedient and loyal as he was. 

In many ways, they were two sides of the same coin. Everyone said that they were destined to be this, but sometimes, Arthur wasn’t sure. This was not one of those times. She could get after Merlin for not marrying or having children, and she could tear him to shreds about how he had decided to live his life, but when all the extraneous details were stripped away, she was no different than he was. She had spent her entire existence searching for him; as soon as she was old enough to comprehend the state of her soul, she would begin yearning for Merlin. She would pray every night that she would find him. 

And when she never did, the realization always came to her as she was lying somewhere, dying. It never mattered whom she had loved or how she had lived her life. It never mattered who she married or how many children she created. There was only one life that she would be able to live as genuinely and freely as she wanted, and it was a life with Merlin. Whether it was in the 6th century or in the 21st century, there was never a time when Arthur’s soul would ever be this complete. 

So, she understood it. She understood why she was on a pedestal and why his entire existence was because of her existence. She had lived the same way, but in her case, the course of her existence depended on reincarnation and cycling through lives that led her to serve her country. She had been able to distract herself from the grief and the waiting by imposing lackeys that came in the form of spouses and children, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and friends that she would struggle to remember once she departed from a life. 

The reason she lashed out at Merlin for how he had chosen to live his life was because she had hoped that he would have been happier. She had wanted him to have a better life, stripped bare of the chains that being a manservant had clapped onto him. There were many reasons why she did not deserve such devotion, but mostly, it was because she couldn’t bring herself to admit just how much she needed Merlin. Pushing him away and insulting his life and his choices was the best way she knew how to express this need. 

Night fell and the stars brightened. After staring out into the vastness of outer space and wondering how the hell the stars out there in the vast emptiness could impose destinies, Arthur fell asleep. The hum of the universe and her soul coming together in conjunction lulled her and quieted her brain. All she felt was the semi-hard ground and the satiny cushion of her sleeping bag. As long as she stayed with the hum, she would be safe. 

Early morning came and the rising sun woke her. Though the hum wasn’t nearly as noticeable as it had been a few hours earlier, she still felt it within her veins. She clamored out of her sleeping bag and packed her bag again before she continued along the path. The sun began its ascent up above the horizon and out in the distance, she saw something strange. 

Something glinted out on a rock outcropping. The peculiar way it shined caught Arthur’s attention, and when she was sure that the rising sun wasn’t playing tricks on her, she approached it. She had never been terribly fond of rock climbing (especially in physical education class in school), but this didn’t seem nearly as humiliating. 

When she reached the top, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my god,” she murmured to the silent world around her. 

With trembling hands, she let her fingers brush against the cool handle of Excalibur. How it had ended up out here was far beyond her comprehension, but here it was, lodged into a rock. Oh, how fitting it was that Excalibur fell to the hands of Arthur Pendragon once again. 

Curiously, she stepped closer, moving her feet closer to the blade. If she was to pull the sword out of the stone, she would need better leverage. And she would need to move her bag because it was likely that she would fall off the rocks. She needed more space. 

Quickly, she set her bag aside and repositioned herself around the sword. Arthur took a deep breath and braced her hands firmly on the handle, one on top of the other. She closed her eyes and initially felt only the cool handle warming under her grip. But then, something shifted within her, almost as if she had flipped the switch on all of the energy of the universe and it was now flowing into her body. Her grip tightened and she began to pull up and away from the stone. 

She lost awareness for a moment, but when she came to, she opened her eyes and was both frightened and pleased by what she found. The sword was free from the stone and as perfect as it had been the day she last brandished it. Around her, nothing had visually changed, but the balance of the universe was altered. It was not clear whether the new balance of the universe was welcome or not. That matter would just have to be resolved later. 

With that, Arthur knew her purpose. She knew that she would find Morgana at the end of her path, not too far from where she now stood, at the forsaken battleground of Camlann, where she had made her last stand. Whether Merlin was there or not was unclear. Knowing him, however, it was unlikely that he would be too far from her. No matter how much anger, confusion, or hurt Arthur invoked in him, Merlin would be there. This was the beginning of the end. 

And she kept walking.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of suicide

Morgana knew it was Arthur without having to go through all the rubbish that Merlin had gone through in order to figure it out. In fact, she was waiting for her dear half-sibling when Arthur arrived to the ruins. Arthur, cocky as ever, strutted over to Morgana and smirked. She had shrugged her bag off not long earlier, but it was nowhere near the ruins. She had decided to keep Excalibur though. Nothing would ever give Arthur more pleasure than running the wretched woman through. 

“You have breasts, dear brother,” Morgana crooned. 

Margaret Le Fey was a lovely looking woman. It wasn’t hard to figure out why people were drawn to her. Curves in all the right places, flawless skin, impeccable hair and eyes to die for. Yes, it was very clear as to why she had received an astounding majority of the vote. Plus, the fact that she had magic probably helped too. 

“Oh, yes. These aren’t necessarily a new development, but I do have breasts. I’m pleased to see that your observational skills are as astute as ever.”

“Has that dear serving boy of yours impregnated you yet? I mean, you have all the right parts and he certainly has never made his affections unclear. It’s almost destiny, isn’t it, to make me an aunt?”

Arthur rolled her eyes and laughed. “I suppose Elise and Molly aren’t nearly as horrific as you are,” she mused. 

“Elise and Molly?”

“Long story,” Arthur replied dismissively. “So, congratulations on the succession.”

Morgana sniffed and sauntered around Arthur, circling her like a hawk. “It took quite a bit of work, but people are so easily swayed these days. Show them something pretty, and they’ll bite on and never let go. It’s all about looks and the promise of sex.”

“It’s a shame that you’ve had to stoop to such low standards. I’d think you were above that,” Arthur chirped. 

The other woman rolled her eyes and stopped walking. Her posture was stiff, but Arthur couldn’t tell what Morgana had seen. She spun around and saw Merlin standing at the entrance of the ruins. “You’re having a party and you didn’t invite me? Well, that’s a bit impolite for our monarch to do,” Merlin called out, his voice cool and smooth. 

Arthur’s heart began to race and she swallowed as a means of barely trying to settle it. Merlin approached them slowly, his posture kept tall and strict. His jaw was set and Arthur knew that it was taking everything out of him not to kill Morgana immediately. Why he wasn’t doing anything confused her, but Arthur knew better than to question his motives. The man was not an idiot, no matter how many times she had tried to qualify it in their time together. “Emrys… I see you haven’t changed,” Morgana purred. 

She approached him and Arthur nearly lunged for her throat. “Don’t touch him,” Arthur called out.

“Dear brother, you and I both know that you’re powerless against me. Don’t meddle in the affairs of those whom wield more power than you could ever possibly dream of.”

Morgana tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned back to Merlin. “So, what do you have in store for me, Emrys? Another stabbing, or perhaps you have had time to become more creative in your murders?”

“Technology is a bitch, don’t you think?” Merlin remarked.

At first, this statement confused Morgana. Though it was subtle and Arthur may have been reading too much into it, it appeared that Morgana looked for signs of a gun or another weapon that Merlin may have brought along and concealed. “You’ve turned to firearms? How tedious.”

“Oh no. No firearms for me. Bit uncoordinated for my tastes. Congratulations on mind control though. That is impressive.”

“I was telling your dear love over there that it wasn’t terribly difficult to get everyone on my side. A bit of cleavage and a lot of hairspray, and that was all it took.”

“And a considerable amount of magic. I can’t possibly imagine how draining that was of your magic.”

“I had help.”

“Of course you did. Mordred, right?” 

Morgana’s expression fell and therefore, it was confirmed that Mordred was certainly a part of her ploys. She scrambled to recoup her icy exterior, the one that gave her a superficial upper hand. “So, Merlin. Will I fight you, someone who fights like a girl, or shall I fight an actual girl? Your choice.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Sparring. Like old times. Except for the swords and shields, which have been rather antiquated in my opinion. We will fence. Who doesn’t like a good spar?” she asked gleefully. 

Merlin swallowed and glanced back at Arthur. “Oh, Merlin. Sweet Merlin… we both know that you wouldn’t dare put your beloved Arthur in harm’s way. We both know that you would put your life down for Arthur, even though you shouldn’t.”

Even Arthur was surprised by his answer.

“No. I won’t fight. Arthur will take you on.”

“Oh?” Morgana inquired. 

He gave a solidary nod. “Just like old times, remember?”

A few minutes later, Arthur and Morgana were suited up in handsomely-crafted white jackets and fencing gear. It wasn’t clear where the equipment had come from, but it was clear that neither Morgana nor Arthur were strangers to the sport. Merlin fastened the Velcro strap across Arthur’s shoulder and let his hand rest there for longer than was necessary. “You don’t have to do this,” Merlin murmured into Arthur’s ear. "I mean, I can step in and take your place." 

“Of course I have to do this,” she replied. 

“But your swordsmanship…?”

“It will be a bit rusty, but I’ve fenced for years. If there’s anything I know as intimately as I know myself, it is how to defend myself.”

“You have no idea what she is capable of.”

“You’re right; I don’t. That’s no reason to run away though.”

“Arthur… please. Don’t.”

She gripped his hand tightly, the cushioned glove morphing to fit his fingers as much as it moved to fit her fingers. “I will be fine.”

Merlin held his breath as Arthur fell into position, poised for sparring. Morgana followed suit, and within seconds, they flew into a flurry of calculated actions and reactions. They danced in their violent and complicated ballet, leaping and lunging, ebbing and flowing into and away from each other. The grotesque beauty was not lost on Merlin. 

The sparring was impressive. Morgana clearly had been trained, but Arthur was something else. Morgana had a good foot of height over Arthur, but for what Arthur lacked in height, she compensated for in her ability to move. Merlin suspected grace was simply part of Arthur’s bones and muscles, part of her essence. 

Something cold and sharp running along the back of his neck distracted Merlin from the fight. “So, Emrys… it’s been a while,” a voice sneered. 

Initially, he did not recognize the voice. When it clicked, he turned around slowly and saw the eyes of Mordred. The face, hair, body, and voice were all someone very different, but this was Mordred. “Ah, Mordred,” he remarked.

“You haven’t aged a day.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t be so quick to jump to that conclusion,” Merlin said. 

Almost instantaneously, Merlin and Mordred fell into a similar set of movements as Morgana and Arthur. Merlin quickly realized that Mordred was armed, but that wasn’t an issue; he was armed too. He brandished Excalibur, wielding the very weapon that had taken both Morgana and Mordred’s lives long ago. 

Both couples were caught up in the heat of battle, never breaking their focus from their respective fighting partners. The intention was not to kill, but to weaken. In exception of Arthur, everyone was quite capable of taking out their opponent by muttering an archaic phrase and throwing forth inexplicable energy at their victim. 

Morgana tired of the dance. She wanted results. She found the taunting to be dull. However, her foil was not. Fortunately, Arthur did not anticipate the right motion, and Morgana speared her half-sibling with the foil. And because she had known Arthur’s penchant for arrogance and showing off, Morgana had prepared the foil with poison. “My dear brother… you’ve been poisoned,” Morgana announced cheerfully as Arthur broke their proximity by stepping back. 

“The foil has been poisoned?” Arthur asked. 

Morgana smirked and shrugged noncommittally. Confidently, Morgana tossed her foil aside. “Perhaps.”

Foolish mistake. Morgana would have never been a Knight of Camelot with that careless action. 

Arthur removed her glove and tossed her foil to the ground. “Well, I suppose you won’t mind if I do,” she remarked.

In a fluid motion that was foreign for this life, Arthur punched Morgana and sent her to the ground. With Morgana out cold, Arthur returned her attention to her wound. “This seems a far bit too much like Hamlet for me,” Arthur sighed as she pressed a de-gloved hand to her abdomen. “Shakespeare would be thrilled.”

Arthur glanced up and realized that Mordred and Merlin were sparring. Mordred was using his sword, the one that had killed Arthur, and Merlin was using Excalibur. Without thinking, Arthur swooped in and ran Morgana in with the foil she had cast aside when she believed that Arthur would concede and back down. Of course, that had been long before Arthur caught her second wind and knocked her out. 

Satisfied, Arthur joined the spar against Mordred. “Arthur, I’ve got this covered!” Merlin shouted. 

“Your form is better. But you still need work,” she replied. 

Her hand still pressed firmly against the wound, Arthur hopped into the fight, armed with the poisoned foil. The pain was overwhelming, but the need to be part of the action was more persuasive. Eventually, however, she fell back and Merlin resumed dominance. Mordred knew better than to jab at Arthur. No one within those ruins were ignorant to Merlin’s power, so this spar was more of an arbitrary show than an actual fight. Mordred was being given an obligatory chance to prove his dominance over Merlin, but even without extraordinary swordsmanship, Merlin was superior. 

Arthur did not see when Mordred fell to Merlin’s efforts, but unexpectedly found herself on the ground when a loud crashing noise surrounded them in all directions. “What’s happening?” she shouted. 

Merlin dove to the ground next to her and covered her with his body. “Cover your head,” he instructed, yelling into her ear. 

It became apparent that the ruins were falling around them. Though it was unclear who had cast the spell that had sent the ancient masonry to the ground, it was obvious that it had been someone’s last-ditch effort at coming out ahead. Arthur wanted to suspect it was Morgana; her power was the only power, other than Merlin’s, that could conjure such a reaction. 

Finally, the noise ceased and a sickening calm surrounded them. “Are you okay?” Merlin asked breathily. 

She could hear his heart pounding and almost feel it against her shoulder, where his neck had rested. He was almost entirely over her, and she became astutely aware of the pain in her abdomen. “Oh god… ow… oh lord…” she groaned.

Merlin clamored off of her and began to visually scan her body for possible injuries. He paled when he saw the blood seeping out of her fencing garb. “Shit,” he muttered. “Okay, we need to move you out of here. There’s no telling what will happen or how unstable everything is. Put your arms around my neck.”

“What about Excalibur,” Arthur asked. “Won’t we need it?”

“Arthur, you’ve been stabbed.”

“Merlin, it’s my sword.”

“It could be your firstborn child and I would still tell you to leave it.”

He jostled her too roughly. “Really?” she groaned. “That’s the example you’d use?”

“Yes.”

Merlin lifted her off the ground and she winced sharply. “Ow! Merlin, please… it’s my sword!”

“Fine,” he sighed impatiently. 

His eyes flashed gold and the sword levitated alongside them. As they hurried out of the ruins to safety, the sword bobbed along, floating after them. But before they could exit, the wall began to crumble. Merlin lost his grip on Arthur and she fell to the ground, just out of range of the falling stone, leaving him on the other side. “Arthur!” he screamed. 

There was no way he could get to her quickly and easily. Panicking, he slapped at the stone and tried to move it, but he couldn’t. His magic was too dangerous to use, because he didn’t know exactly where she was in relation to the fallen stones. His breathing became shallow and he let out a whimper. The whimpers gave way to sobs, which lead to screaming sobs. 

A delicate hand cupped his shoulder. Alarmed, he spun around and nearly collapsed to the ground when he saw it was Freya. She was still as beautiful as the day she died in his arms, and now, she was here. “Freya…” he murmured. 

“Hello Merlin,” she replied. 

“Oh god… it’s Arthur. She’s in there and… and I can’t get her out!” he rambled aimlessly, his hands flying about in the air and his eyes wild with adrenaline and passion and fear. 

Freya braced both his shoulders with her hands. “Arthur will be fine. You will use your magic to get her out of there and we will help her.”

Like a child, he nodded and swallowed his tears. He hiccupped and sniffled. “Freya, why are you here? Aren’t you meant to be at the lake?”

She smiled and nodded. “Usually. But given the circumstances, it is clear that the time has come.”

“The time has come?” he echoed.

“Now is not the time to explain. Come. Let’s get her out of there.”

Carefully, they moved the stones together. Freya’s magic was far weaker than Merlin’s weakest spell, but she had the capacity to locate Arthur so Merlin knew how to move the stones and how to protect her in case the stones moved precariously close to her. Within minutes, Merlin was able to run inside and lift her from the ground. Freya retrieved Excalibur, and off they went. 

The walk back to the backpacks was arduous, but once there, Merlin laid Arthur down on the ground and they began to tend to her. Arthur, on the other hand, had different ideas. 

Upon opening her eyes and realizing that Freya was there, she grinned. “Oh my god… it’s you. You’ve come back,” Arthur murmured. 

Arthur weakly reached over and tried to grab Freya’s hand. “You’ve come back to him,” Arthur breathed. 

Her face was alit with a grin that no dying person would have on their face unless they had truly come to peace with their fate. Merlin refused to believe that this was the case. He busied himself with her fencing garb, cutting away at the bloodied fabric with magic and frustration. 

“Merlin, please… go be with Freya,” Arthur pleaded as she grabbed his wrist. “She’s come back to you.”

His hands poked and prodded at her painfully in his efforts to expose the wound. “No. I’m not going to let you die. I’m not going to watch you die again!” Merlin exclaimed.

She smiled weakly and blinked away the tears from the pain. “Merlin, when I die, when I’m gone, you can die too.”

“No.”

“Merlin, please. Be with Freya.”

“Not if it means that you die.”

“I’m already dying.”

“I can save you!”

“Merlin, haven’t you saved me enough? Don’t you ever tire of it?” Arthur asked, trying to manage a laugh. “It has been an honor.”

Merlin sat back on his legs and wiped at his face using the sleeve of his ripped sweatshirt. Her blood covered the koala bear in a safari hat t-shirt. “Arthur, don’t,” he commanded in a shaky voice. “I am Emrys, and I demand that you don’t die!”

“Merlin… please.”

“No!” 

Merlin began to rip at her shirt to get to the wound. He kept muttering “No,” over and over again. 

“Don’t get fresh,” Arthur said as she weakly batted at his hand, trying to keep him from getting to the wound. 

“You will not die!” Merlin growled. “Move your hand. I can heal you.”

Arthur sighed and her arm fell to the ground. Merlin, relieved that she had finally listened to him for once, pulled the shirt away from the bloody spot where she had been impaled and placed his hand over the wound. She winced at his touch, but didn’t make a noise. He placed his other hand on her head and stroked her hair. This was far too familiar for his liking. “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. You are my best friend and if there is anything I know about you, it’s that you are going to make it through this. The universe can’t be this cruel twice.”

She was falling and she was falling fast. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Merlin’s level of panic went through the roof. “No, Arthur. Stay with me! You and I, we can live out the rest of our days together. I won’t have to live another thousand or so years; you won’t have to live every life simply to serve Albion. You remember those thirty kids you told me about? We’ll have ten more, and they’ll all be brilliant. You have to stay with me, Arthur. I can’t watch you die twice.”

Freya fell to her knees across from him and watched him expectantly over Arthur’s dying body. “What can I do?” she asked.

Merlin glanced up at her. “Healing rituals—any you can think of, do them,” Merlin instructed. 

A few seconds later, Freya began a ritual that Merlin didn’t pay much attention to, since he was still trying to stabilize Arthur. Eventually, he accepted that there wasn’t much more he could do, so he moved away from Arthur. There was tightness in his chest and it felt as though he had been impaled too. 

He stood up and walked away. He had done this before; there was nothing more to do. There weren’t any dragons to call; they’d all died years before. Perhaps his fate was simply to be alone. Irrevocably alone. 

The cliffs overlooking the sea looked rather favorable to him. It had never really crossed his mind to take his own life. All those years, he had lived with the promise that Arthur would return and they would unify Albion. Arthur was the once and future king. But, she had come and gone again, and there was nothing more Merlin could do for his friend. There was nothing more Merlin could do with his life, so with that said, what was the purpose of living? 

Freya was there, but… 

The tightness returned to his chest, and Merlin collapsed on a tuft of grass. He stared up at the blue sky, cursing the day for being so perfect, and yet so imperfect. Everything he had ever believed in was gone from him. All that he was now was an old man. A very old man who had reached the end of his road. And even though a thousand and a half years had passed since that horrid day, Merlin still felt as helpless as he had the first time Arthur left him.

Damn the blue sky. Damn the fresh sea breeze. Damn the universe. Damn everything.

Damn the day he laid eyes on the prat of a prince. 

This was it, Merlin decided. This was going to be his end, here in the grass, overlooking the vast ocean. And how fitting, they were here, overlooking the ocean near Tintagel, where his Arthur, the first Arthur, had been born. Maybe now Arthur’s spirit could return to the earth, being so close to where Arthur’s spirit began.

Merlin lay in the grass, grasping at the past, grasping at the grass, grasping for the future, grasping for something more than this lowly existence. No, it was silly for him to die in the grass. If he was going to die, he was going into the water. It was only fitting that the water be what took him. The only regret he had (though he had many) in that moment was that it was the ocean and not the lake. He closed his eyes and prayed for reprieve from this life. 

And with one step, it was done.


	17. Chapter 17

Death wasn’t as painful as Merlin had anticipated. To him, death was falling, a slight impact, and then the feeling of pressure all around him. Nothing scary or painful about that. Nothing like what Arthur endured. 

Oh, how he wished to find Arthur. His Arthur, not the obnoxious woman who was now Arthur. Maybe the spirit had left the body and he would be reunited with his king. Not Martha. But Arthur. King Arthur Pendragon. 

“Merlin?”

Merlin spun around and realized he was looking at his mother. “Mother?”

“Oh, my boy… come here!” Hunith exclaimed as she held her arms open for him. 

Merlin walked toward his mother, his head so light it felt like he was floating and his limbs even lighter. He hadn’t the slightest clue what he looked like, but he was relieved to see his mother. It had been ages since he had seen her, and as he took in the sight of his mother, he was alarmed to find that he had forgotten what she had looked like. He wrapped his arms around his mother and they stood that way for quite some time. 

His mother smiled as she pulled away from him and took in his features. “You’re an old man,” she mused. 

Apparently, he had returned to his elderly form. “Yes, I suppose I am,” Merlin agreed. 

There was something in how Hunith was looking at him that worried him. “Mother, what’s wrong?”

“You’ve stood alone, all this time.”

“I’ve been fine, Mother.”

“I think you’ve thought you were fine, but I don’t believe for one second that you were. All that time, all those people, and here you are now. Still without Arthur.”

“Arthur’s a woman now.”

“Arthur has been in many forms since he first died,” Hunith explained. 

“Every time he comes back, it is to serve Albion. He comes back when Albion is in a time of need. That was what Kilgharrah foretold. Arthur’s incarnations coincide with periods in which Britain has experienced great hardship.”

“And that is Arthur’s purpose.”

“But what is my purpose?” Merlin demanded. “Over a thousand years of waiting, and for what?” 

Merlin began pacing, whipping his hands erratically through his hair. This was unexpected, especially to Merlin. “Why have I been the one to wait?”

“Merlin, please…”

“What?” 

“I cannot imagine the life you have lived, but it seems to me that it was always meant to be you who waited. Arthur remembers every life he has lived. His burden to bear is having to come back to serve. But your burden is…”

“To never die.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve finally found a way to achieve that.”

Merlin closed his eyes and exhaled. “I couldn’t watch Arthur die again.”

“So you took your life.”

“Yes.”

“I always suspected this would be how you would find your end.”

“By taking my life?”

“No. Because of love.”

Merlin crossed his arms and eyed his mother warily. “Sorry?” he scoffed. “Surely, you must be joking. First Gaius, and now you…”

Hunith shook her head. “Merlin, you have spent centuries waiting for Arthur. Your entire life is contingent upon him. Now, of course, this will probably come out far less eloquently as I would prefer, but all that waiting, all that anticipation for when Arthur would return would take a toll on you. Fifteen hundred years, and here you are, after watching what you believed to be Arthur’s death. You took your life because you couldn’t bear it anymore. You couldn’t bear the overwhelming feelings that came with that.”

“How many people that you cared for have you watched die?” Merlin demanded.

“I just saw you jump off a cliff,” Hunith answered quietly. “A mother watching her son do that? Now, honestly, how do you think that makes me feel?”

“You know what I’ve gone through.”

“Certainly, and I don’t discredit your reasons. I’m simply adding another reason. You love Arthur.”

He scoffed. “No. I don’t.”

“I’m not saying it’s romantic love or love in which you feel immense sexual attraction, but it is love. What you and Arthur have is unique. You held him in your arms as he died. You two were very close friends. The kinship you two share is rare and powerful. So powerful that it has lasted over a thousand years. And you couldn’t bear to watch Arthur die again. Believe me, it all makes sense, but I don’t think you made a good choice.”

“Why?”

“You underestimated yourself again.”

“I what?”

“You underestimated yourself. You underestimated your ability.”

“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t going to be able to save Arthur. It was too powerful.”

“Merlin, you love Arthur, and you’d be surprised what that sort of power love holds.”

“Do you mean to tell me that Arthur lives?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m dead.”

“Not quite.”

“You just said that you watched me die.”

“No, I believe I said that I watched you jump off a cliff.”

Water was filling his lungs, and the surface was getting farther and farther away from him. If Arthur was truly alive, he was certain that he would die a thousand deaths if he found Arthur in the afterlife. There was no way that Arthur wouldn’t let him live this down. 

With two determined kicks, Merlin propelled toward the surface. Another few kicks and he was able to keep his head above the water. He remembered his arms, and began scooping water behind him, trying to make his way to shore. The sea was frigid and the seawater stung his eyes, but if Arthur were alive, it wouldn’t matter. His entire body could be an open wound and he could be swimming in the saltiest of seas, but he wouldn’t stop for anything. Not now.


	18. Chapter 18

What seemed like an eternity passed, and he crawled onto the shore. His clothes clung to him and hindered his ability to move, but he was coughing and able to breathe in the salty air. Never before had he loved tiny bits of rock and shell or land. It had truly been quite a long time since he had loved being alive. The value of living had long lost its value, but on that beach, coughing up water and wondering what the hell he had been thinking (or how he was going to get back up to the top of the cliff), the value of living was back in his heart. 

It was only then that Merlin could truly see what having Arthur in his life meant and how that joy was pulling him from the tired old man he had become, pulling him back to the young boy he had been when he arrived in Camelot. 

He was exhausted. Once he was on dry sand and sure that he wouldn’t be dragged into the sea again, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. His chest rose and fell drastically as he gradually calmed down and returned to homeostasis. 

For a while, Merlin was not conscious of anything beyond the infinite possibilities of the universe, and honestly, that was enough to keep him busy. But then, in an impossibly small corner of his consciousness, a small tapping niggled at him. He thought that there might even be a voice calling his name, maybe two voices. Maybe there was a brush of hair and hands and someone might have been hitting him, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe the air was warmer and maybe he wasn’t wet anymore. 

Maybe someone was right next to him and he didn’t know it. 

Perhaps he should figure out what was going on. 

The air was wet and cold. Chill had reached his bones, and Merlin was certain that he had found the afterlife. But when he heard seagulls, he second-guessed himself. It seemed wholesomely unlikely that there would be seagulls in the afterlife; though, it was possible because seagulls die too. 

He wondered what the afterlife looked like. Slowly, he opened one eye and was confused when he saw a pair of blurry, worried faces staring back at him. “Oh thank god,” one of the faces said. “He was just unconscious.”

Merlin opened both eyes and saw that it was Freya and Arthur sitting next to him. They were nowhere near a beach. Freya looked pleased, but Arthur looked like Death had sideswiped her (which, it had). “Arthur?” Merlin murmured.

“Shh, it’s fine. You’re cold, that’s all,” she replied as she seemed to tuck something around him. 

“Am I dead?”

“No.”

“Are you dead?”

“Clearly, no.”

“Are Morgana and Mordred dead?”

“Yes. Thankfully.”

“But what happened?”

“Go to sleep, Merlin. And try not to scare us again.”

Arthur moved away from him, wincing a little as she did. “You were wounded,” Merlin stated flatly as he sat up and tried to help her. “You were impaled, and it nearly went all the way through your torso.”

“Tis but a scratch,” she quoted with an upward quirk of her lip.

“What is that from?” Merlin asked. “That’s from something; knowing you, it’s from something.”

“Really? Monty Python was lost on you too?” Arthur sighed. “Good grief. Don’t tell me you missed the Beatles too.”

“Are they the blokes with the hair?”

Arthur rolled her eyes. “Yes, Merlin. They are the blokes with the hair.”

He chuckled. “I know who the Beatles are, Arthur. You may think I’m a bit unobservant, but even I noticed them,” he replied.

Arthur wasn’t entirely convinced that Merlin knew who the Beatles were, but she decided to let him have his moment. Besides, a little quiet would do them some good.

Merlin drifted in and out of sleep over the next few hours, but when he woke, Arthur was asleep. Freya had conjured a fire and had repaired their ripped clothing. “How is she?” Merlin asked Arthur.

Freya smiled and glanced over at Arthur. “She’s doing well. The mark will always be there, but she is well.”

“What ultimately did it? I mean, what ultimately saved her?”

“It was your magic, Merlin. As it was always meant to be.”

This gave him a reason to smile. “But what did you do?”

“It was a healing ritual. While it works fine alone for illness, for wounds like what Arthur had, it isn’t effective. But, with your magic, no matter how great your power, a little more help never hurts.” 

“Thank you,” Merlin said, glancing down at his hands. 

“How much longer do you think you’ll live?” Freya asked.

“Haven’t a clue. Arthur reckons this is it though; only a few more decades, at most.”

“You must be relieved.”

Relieved wasn’t really the word he would have chosen. Of course, had someone asked him this question centuries earlier, yes, he would be relieved to know that his time was coming. But now, he wasn’t sure. “Perhaps relieved isn’t the word for it,” he mused. 

Freya laughed. “Well, at any rate, I suppose that now you and Arthur can get down to having those ten children you promised her.”

“Not a chance,” Arthur mumbled as she rolled onto her side. “I knew I shouldn’t have told him about the children.”

Freya glanced back at Arthur before she quirked an eyebrow at Merlin. He only smiled. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” Freya murmured.

Merlin laughed softly and nodded. Eventually, he fell back to sleep, and he realized it must have been for quite a while because when he became aware of someone talking, it had grown cold and he sensed that a lot of time had passed. 

“Merlin?” 

The voice wasn’t Freya’s voice. Freya’s voice was far more graceful than this voice. Groggily, he opened an eye. 

Arthur was sitting next to him, her already brown hair matted with dried mud and soot, and perhaps even some of her own blood, despite the fact that it had been hours since she had been in mud or bleeding. Freya had done something to repair Arthur’s clothing, because the buttons on her blouse were all intact and the rip where the sword had gone into Arthur was gone. Arthur was still pale, but very much alive. “Oh good, you’re still alive,” she breathed as she whacked Merlin’s arm. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

“Ow…” he groaned.

“You jumped off a cliff!” Arthur screeched. “Freya had to watch you jump off a cliff!”

There really was no point in trying to go back to sleep. “I watched her as she died! I held you as you died! I’m glad she had to see that!”

“You’re a sick bastard, aren’t you?”

Merlin propped himself up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. Clearly, Arthur was feeling better. “Arthur, it’s been too long. I’ve been at this for too long.”

She softened. “I know.”

“And I don’t know how I’ve managed all this time.”

“Honestly, I think it’s a feat in itself that you haven’t managed to kill everyone.”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious or not until her face softened. “You worry me,” she continued as she wrapped both of her hands around his arm. 

“I love you,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. 

Her eyes widened, but he was confident that she wasn’t about to wallop him again. “I know,” she replied softly.

“Did you just Han Solo me?” Merlin asked as he sat up further. 

“Did I what?”

“Han Solo me. You know, in Star Wars, when Princess Leia tells Han Solo that she loves him, and all that Han Solo says in response to that is ‘I know’? You just did that.”

Arthur sighed and shook her head in disbelief. “Of all the references you understand, it’s Star Wars.”

Merlin was confused. “Well, yes.”

“Star Wars?” Arthur demanded. “Really?”

“It’s not as if I’m some huge fan,” Merlin explained. “It was simply out of mere curiosity.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” she agreed sarcastically. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

“Where’s Freya?”

Arthur froze, halfway up off the ground. Freya had only come back in the heat of the battle to make sure that Merlin didn’t do anything rash. She had promised that she would stay as long as he needed, but no longer. Arthur was stable, Merlin was fine (an idiot, but fine), and Freya had more important things to tend to back in Avalon. 

“She’s gone back to the lake. The Lady of the Lake, I think they call her.”

Merlin nodded grimly. “It’s a shame that we didn’t get more time with her,” he lamented.

“I suppose, but there will be time one day. There’s no rush,” Arthur replied quietly as she ran her hand through his hair. 

Merlin knew that couldn’t name any reason to rush, even if his life depended on it. There certainly was no need to rush. Not now, not ever.  


	19. Chapter 19

The sun sat high in the sky as they walked, hand in hand, towards the nearest town. Based on Arthur’s calculations, it wouldn’t be too long of a walk. They anticipated a lot of confusion and chaos, but hoped that they could slip through unnoticed. 

As they walked through the town, they spotted signs that things had changed. The world had calmed and as they later found out, the UN and EU had issues resolutions mandating that if Morgana hadn’t abdicated within a week, brute force would have been implemented. It didn’t take a moron to read between the lines with those threats. Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that, and no one really knew why. 

They checked into a small bed and breakfast, relieved to be able to shower and have a warm bed. Arthur took the shower first, needing to get the blood out of her hair and rinse away all other traces of almost dying two days earlier. Merlin popped out to get some food from a local market. The woman who ran the inn said that the only meal included in the fare was breakfast, which meant that they were on their own for the other meals. He didn’t mind. 

When he returned to their room, Arthur was lying against the pillows, her damp hair combed and splayed out in wet clumps against the headboard. Without the traces of dirt and blood on her body, she was renewed. Exhausted, but renewed. 

“I’ve brought sandwiches. It was the easiest thing to grab,” Merlin explained as he set the plastic bag down on the bed. “Surprisingly, there weren’t any take-away places open.”

She glanced up at him. “Sorry?” she hummed.

He smiled and shook his head in mock disbelief. “Sandwich?”

“Oh. Yes, please. Thank you.”

He tossed her a sandwich (bacon and tomato, her favorite) and headed into the bathroom. Arthur returned to making good use of the bed and breakfast’s Wi-Fi, catching up on all that had happened on a global scale while they had knocked the domino over that sent it all falling back to normal. 

When Merlin finished, he padded out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. He cursed himself for not pulling out a pair of pants before he had gotten into the shower, because now, he had to go trowel through his backpack in search of pants, while holding his towel closed. Part of him wondered what would happen if he just forgot about the towel and let it go. Would Arthur notice? 

As it turned out, looking for a pair of clean pants wasn’t as tenuous as originally expected. He slipped back into the bathroom and hastily pulled them on. His stomach growled ferociously and it was very clear that the sandwich waiting for him would be the best meal he ever had. 

Upon returning to the bed, he snatched up his sandwich and tore into it like an animal. Arthur glanced over at him languidly, watching him with mild interest. “You’re in your pants.”

“Yeah?” Merlin replied, mouth full of sandwich.

“You never sleep in just your pants.”

It was rude for him not to finish his bite of food before speaking again. “Yeah, I know. I really don’t care though. I’m tired, I’m starving, and quite honestly, I think I lost my pajamas along the way.”

“Fair enough,” she hummed. 

She tapped the screen of her tablet, returning to catching up. “Anything interesting?” Merlin asked, resting his head against her shoulder. 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. Prince Harry is alive, so it’s likely that he’ll be reinstalled on the throne.”

“What about Parliament? Are they dissolving?”

“I don’t think that would be a wise choice at the moment. But then again, the Prime Minister is dead, and the Deputy Prime Minister went with her, so…”

“Are they suggesting that the monarchy take over for a little while?”

“I think it might come up, but I don’t know. I don't know if he would want to take on such a responsibility. I’ve always had the impression that he enjoys his humanitarian work and work with the military. It’s too much of an undertaking, being a monarch.”

He nodded against her shoulder. His wet hair dripped down her back and his warm breath blanketed her upper arm. “Did you ever consider abdicating?”

“In Camelot?” 

“Yeah.”

She made a noise in her throat and shrugged. “It’s certainly not the easiest job in the world. Though, admittedly, it’d be a lot easier to lead Camelot than it would to lead the Commonwealth. Profoundly different entities.”

“What would have made you abdicate?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think there was ever an instance where I consciously thought, ‘If this keeps up, I’m out of here’; it never got to the point where I felt I was up against a brick wall. The matters of magic and Morgana certainly didn’t help, but I never felt stuck. I had a few good men on my side,” Arthur replied before she turned to him and kissed his forehead. “You don’t smell like a dog anymore.”

“I smelled like a dog?”

“Yeah. It was starting to really bum me out.”

He laughed. “Why?” 

“No one wants to be around someone who smells like a dog.”

“Fair enough.”

He read over her shoulder as she clicked through stories. They all seemed to have the same general idea, so he zoned out after a while and fell asleep. Arthur must have fallen asleep shortly thereafter, because he didn’t recall being woken at any point throughout the night. When he woke up, Arthur was still asleep. She was sleeping with her mouth open, snoring softly, and her arms were hugging a pillow. He was facing her and hugging her in a similar manner. 

Carefully, he moved out of the bed to get dressed. They were planning to go visit Tintagel that day, hoping to get away from pretty much everything for a short time. Tintagel hadn’t really been either of their idea, but when they had arrived in the town the day before, it just so happened that they had come upon the very town where they could find Tintagel. In all of her travels, Arthur had yet to come upon Tintagel, and Merlin really didn’t get out much, so they agreed that they would go check it out. 

Once he dressed, he went through and repacked his entire backpack, going through to make sure that he hadn’t misplaced anything of remarkable importance. He was relieved to find that most of what he had originally packed was still with him. Most of it required thorough washing, but that could be handled at a later time. 

About an hour later, Arthur woke and they headed down to eat breakfast with the other guests of the bed and breakfast. When they finished, they returned to the room and packed up their belongings and tidied the room so that it wasn’t horribly undone when the owner returned to clean up after them. 

Before they could leave the bed and breakfast, they were met with men in suits and a black guarded car. “Martha Eleanor Genevieve Pembroke?” a man asked as they stepped out of the home.

“Yes?” she answered hesitantly.

“By the order of Parliament, you have been named as the immediate successor to the throne.”

Her jaw dropped. “Pardon?” 

“You have been legitimized as the successor.”

“How have I been legitimized? I’m not part of the Royal Family.”

“Per decree of Parliament, you have been named as the successor.”

“You must be mistaken, sir,” Arthur laughed. 

“No, ma’am.”

“There must be another Martha Eleanor Genevieve Pembroke?” 

Another suited man procured a set of documentation from a handsome leather folder and handed it to Arthur. She took the paperwork and flipped through it. Finally, she glanced up at them and sighed. “This is my documentation. But I can’t figure why I would be the choice of Parliament. I’m virtually no one.”

The men stared at her silently, waiting for her to move. “I suppose I can’t decide not to go with you,” she said. 

“We were sent to retrieve you and make you a protectorate of the British government.”

“Of course,” she murmured and turned to Merlin. “Can he come with me?” 

“Do you have identification on your person?” the man asked Merlin.

“Uh, yeah,” Merlin answered, hastily taking off his backpack to rifle through for his wallet. 

Merlin pulled out his ID and handed it to the guard. “Merlin Ambrosius,” he explained. 

The guard nodded silently and stepped away from them. The original guard held out his arm to guide Arthur to the car. “Ma’am, we have a helicopter waiting to take us to London.”

Before they were put into the car, Merlin and Arthur shared a worried look. This was unexpected.


	20. Chapter 20

They knew that once Arthur is crowned, Merlin would not be able to stay with her. It wouldn’t be safe for him, especially since Arthur’s presence is contentious as it was. The entire world knew who they are: Merlin and Arthur, and the entire world knows their story. 

Except no one knew who they really are, and no one realized that they knew their story. 

The story of their lives remained between them. And whatever would come to pass in the next few days would determine how their stories ended. They had made it this far in all that time, but now, time was turning the pages of their story, faster and faster as the future came at them, full force. 

Buckingham Palace was an absolute wreck when they found it. Arthur stepped through the debris first, gawking at the destruction of a legacy that she herself had spent lives protecting. And yet again, it had been Morgana who had taken it down so foolishly, believing that she was invincible. 

No one was invincible. Not even Merlin. 

“No respect for anything,” Arthur murmured, looking about the large banquet hall. “She never respected anything.”

The shock was still just as fresh as it had been seven hours previously. They had been flown from Tintagel to an airfield just outside London. Another car had met them at the airfield and had driven them into London. Merlin had never been to this part of the country, so he was enraptured by how vast and populated London was, but Arthur was less impressed. It was only when they arrived at the Parliament building and they were greeted with a team of guards and assistants. 

Arthur was whisked away to the hasty meeting in Parliament to discuss her new role in the government while Merlin was taken to another part of the building. He asked for a tour of the building, and was surprised when they agreed to give him one. It was strange how quickly he fell into the role of an enthusiastic tourist, roaming the halls and looking at all the history that he had lived but had never been this close to. 

Several hours later, Arthur was done with her meeting and was taken to Merlin, who was now at Buckingham Palace. “So?” he prompted her. 

“They said that, after going back and looking at the lineage as far back as it could go, my name came up.”

“How?”

“That’s not actually what happened, Merlin. That’s what they believed happened, but it’s not the truth.”

“How do you mean?”

Arthur led him away from the rest of the group and moved as close as she could without touching him anywhere but his hand. “I felt that the balance of the universe had changed when I pulled Excalibur out of the stone. At the time, I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I felt something change. I could sense that the balance wasn’t right, but now I think it has been restored.”

“Restored in what sense?” 

“Something brought my name to their attention. I’m not saying it was you or Morgana or Mordred, but something brought their attention to me. We may never know what that was, but I’m clearly supposed to be here to do something.”

“Like what? Run the country?”

“Yes. I’m meant to stand as the temporary Prime Minister.”

“Are they abolishing the monarchy, once and for all?”

“Not quite. I’m not entirely sure. I know for certain, however, that this is a very risky position to be in. I was not elected by the populous, I’m virtually no one, and suddenly, I’m in a place of great power. Even I’m scared of what I am.”

“So… what does this mean?”

“It means that the next few months, if not years, will be challenging, but my purpose is to get the country back on track. I can barely keep my own life on track, but now, I’m apparently the best choice to bring some sanity to one of the most affluent and powerful nations in the world. This has a very real possibility of not ending well.”

“Arthur, you’ll do fine. You ran Camelot just fine.”

“But I didn’t. I didn’t lead Camelot as I should have. When I died, you were still forbidden from living as freely as you wished, and there were loads of people who wanted to see Camelot fall. Those things are not indicative of a good leader, Merlin. And don’t say that they are, because we both know that’s a lie.”

Merlin sighed and shook his head. Without notice, he pulled Arthur closer to him and wrapped her in a tight hug. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Yes, you’ve had your misgivings and have done things that have not had the best outcomes. That’s part of leadership. But, you have been given an excellent chance to redeem yourself. You have come back to an era when Albion is in great need, just as the prophecies foretold, and now, it’s your time to prove your worth and capacity to serve your people.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she took in a deep breath and tried to clear her head. “They said that you could stay for a few days, but you will need to leave thereafter. Parliament is relieved to hear that I’m unmarried.”

“Are they going to arrange your marriage?” Merlin asked jokingly.

Arthur pulled away and looked up at him. “Actually, yes.”

“What? They can’t actually do that, can they?” 

“Apparently, they can do whatever the hell they want. All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women are but mere players… so that means that they get to play with my life to see what they can do with it, and to what level of insanity they can drive me to,” she explained bitterly. 

The next few days were spent, quietly cleaning up and preparing for Arthur’s new role. Neither Merlin nor Arthur spoke about how horribly unfair this was. Instead, they talked about only the positives to come from the experience. It was far easier to not acknowledge their reality. 

Most of the final night was spent alone in Arthur’s chambers. They had taken dinner in the dining room and had retreated to her bedroom. The knowing looks they received from palace staff went largely ignored. There was nothing that these people could think that would change the situation for them, and there was no point in trying. 

Quietly, Arthur changed for bed, even though it was still far too early to do so. She crawled into bed and Merlin followed soon thereafter. He sat lamely over the covers, watching her sadly. He shrank into himself, his posture folding in, and eventually, he broke. Merlin began sobbing and before he knew it, Arthur had him in her arms. 

His body slumped against hers, his head buried in the crook of her neck and his shoulders pressed against hers. Long, gangly arms and legs wrapped around her, so that he was practically sitting in her lap, but he managed to fit. Her legs wrapped around where his rump met the bed, and her heels rested against his pelvis, allowing him to sit nearly-flush against her. His shuddery and wet breaths contrasted greatly against her slow and steady breaths. She began to rock back and forth, comforting him as if he were a child. 

Gradually, he calmed down and squeezed his eyes shut, flushing his eyes of the rest of his tears. Arthur had laid back against the pillows, and cradled him to her chest. Not much later, they were asleep, spending their last few hours together as close as possible. 

Merlin left before Arthur woke the next morning. There was no point in sticking around until she woke. Instead, he left a note, explaining that he had gone and that maybe someday they would meet again. He wrote that he loved her dearly and that would never change, and that he wished her a long and happy life. Exactly the things he had always implied but had never actually told Arthur outright. 

The palace staff offered him breakfast, and when he explained that he needed to leave before she woke, they wrapped it up to go for him. He expressed his gratitude, and politely neglected to mention that he would not eat the food. He had no appetite. Perhaps someone else would find better use for the food than he would. 

After leaving the palace grounds, he made his way to the closest train station. Navigating through the city was still very daunting to him, but he had mapped out his course a few days earlier, so at least he had a plan. Upon leaving London, he would make his way to Somerset and visit the site of Cadbury Castle. He had heard many stories about Cadbury Castle, mostly that it was one of the more plausible sites of Camelot, but he needed to see this for himself. 

Maybe after he returned to Glastonbury, which wasn’t too far away from Cadbury Castle, he would contact Gaius and see if Gaius would be willing to come live with him. It seemed like such a waste to not have Gaius nearby, and if his health was ailing, the older man could use another set of hands. Merlin had gotten the distinct impression that Gaius was terribly lonely, and because he was now back in a similar boat, perhaps having Gaius around would do him some good. 

The train ride was long and quiet, but Merlin really didn’t mind. He was used to quiet. 

He should have known it was all too good to be true.


	21. Chapter 21

Cadbury Castle, as Merlin discovered, was very much the site of Camelot. The magnetism of the land nearly toppled him over as he approached the hallowed lands. Many of the people whom he had loved in his life were laid to rest on this land. Because he couldn’t bring himself to venture out to the actual mound where the castle had stood, he spent his day sitting on a hill overlooking the landscape. That was as much as he could manage at that point. 

Once the sun began its descent below the horizon, however, he found his courage and made his way towards the ruins. He reached the top of the hill by the time the sky was dark, and while he wasn’t entirely sure if he was trespassing, he probably was. It didn’t really matter anyway. This was his old land, this was his old home, this was where he had once belonged. 

The air was electric. Wind shocked him, gently tugging on the hair on his arms and head. His lungs felt cleaner than they had in centuries, and his bones didn’t feel so hollow. He needed to stretch his body and his mind, reach out to the past, present, and future so that he might be able to feel some relief from this stagnant life. 

He moved towards the center of the phantom stone walls, begotten with every intention of standing the test of time. With every millisecond that passed, Merlin felt as though history was pulling him back. An unseen force pushed him forward, but he felt something pulling away from him. His consciousness faded to the point that he was only marginally aware of his footsteps and heartbeats. 

With a thud, he snapped back into full consciousness. 

The world around him was bright and noisy. He heard footsteps and horses and the voices of people speaking an unfamiliar language. Though, within several seconds, Merlin realized that they were speaking English, but a horribly archaic form of the language. 

“There you are, you idiot! Where the hell have you been?” 

Merlin whipped his head around, bewildered by what he saw. There he was. In his finest glory, armor-clad and hair shining in the sun, King Arthur Pendragon stood before him. 

He twisted around, trying to gather his bearings. This was not right. It was dark only just a few minutes ago. And this couldn’t have been right because Arthur was a man, but Arthur was really a woman. “Arthur?” he asked in surprise. 

“Merlin? Where have you been?”

“I… uh…”

“Merlin, it’s not a difficult question. Were you at the tavern again?”

Finally, an easy question to answer. Merlin sighed and shook his head. “I’m not a drunkard, Arthur.”

“Well, where were you? You are late!”

“Yeah, I’d say so… or remarkably early. I can’t really figure out what it is at this point.”

Arthur eyed him warily. He deliberately stepped toward Merlin and poked at his chest. “What are you wearing? What is that?” he inquired, a hint of disgust present in his voice.

Merlin looked down at his clothing. He was wearing jeans, trainers, a blue hoodie, and Arthur’s old, unwashed and rumpled University of Edinburgh shirt that she slept in. It was the only thing he had squirrelled away from Arthur while he still had the chance, which made the shirt even more precious to him. Admittedly, this was a bit different than the usual garb Arthur, this Arthur, was accustomed to. “It’s a shirt,” Merlin explained lamely.

“A shirt?”

“A tunic?” 

“A tunic. That is not a tunic. What is that… artwork on it?”

Even though Arthur was a well learned man and had an exceptional ease with reading and writing, of course this script would be unfamiliar. Edinburgh probably had three or four centuries to go before it would even become something worth putting on a map, and the concept of a university was not going to be something Merlin could ever explain to this Arthur. “Uh, it’s a new way of doing tunics. Gwen’s been trying out some different ideas.”

“When has she had time to work with tunics? She’s been too busy with the council.”

So, whatever had happened, Merlin was back in a time when Arthur and Gwen were married. He still was wearing his 21st century clothing, and there Arthur was, nagging at him like he always had. “Uh, well, you know, in her down time,” Merlin stammered.

Arthur was still not convinced. “Merlin.”

There was no point in trying to keep this ruse going. “Okay, fine. It’s from the future. This clothing; it’s all from the future. I’m from the future. I don’t know how the hell it happened, but here we are, hundreds of years before I’m supposed to be, and I’m wearing a hoodie and trainers while you’re wearing chainmail and I feel like a complete dolt…” 

Arthur clapped him on the arm, which caused Merlin to shut up. “Merlin, what are you going on about? The future? What on earth are you talking about?”

“You… you and I are together in the future.”

Not quite what Merlin had intended to say when explaining the concept of the future to Arthur, but maybe it wasn’t entirely all for not. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I’d hope so. You are my advisor.”

“No, not like that.”

The panic flashed in Arthur’s eyes and Merlin knew that the time had come to be completely honest with Arthur. It was the only way this was going to end. “Then how?” Arthur asked slowly. 

“You and I… well, we will meet again in the future. You’ll go on, living your many different lives while I live just this one, becoming obscenely old, and we’ll meet again. In the future.”

“I’m not sure if I understand. How are we going to be together?” 

“You know, kind of like how you and Gwen are.”

Arthur flew back from Merlin and held his hands up, as if he were surrendering. “Merlin, I care for you; please don’t doubt my affections, but I don’t think I care for you to that extent.”

“No, no. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m sure… you know, never mind about that bit. My point is: you and I will be reunited again in the future.”

“Why would we be reunited? That implies that we were apart.”

That was a remark Merlin hadn’t been counting on. His body tensed and even though it was always difficult thinking about Arthur’s death, given the circumstances back in the 21st century, the thought slammed into him with even more of a brute force. “We were. It’s not my place to say why we were apart, but it will make sense. I promise.”

“Merlin…”

The rest of whatever Arthur wanted to say was lost. He was remarkably confused and a little frightened of how Merlin was acting and what he was saying. His words made almost no sense, but the way Merlin was so affirmative about what he was saying lent credence to his story. It was preposterous and mad and so very much like something Merlin would believe. It was far too surreal for Arthur’s liking, however. 

“I don’t understand. And you’re not going to tell me what is going on, so, I’m not really sure if it’s worth ordering you to go deal with my armor.”

Merlin chuckled but smiled sadly. It occurred to Merlin that he could jaunt off and go do all of Arthur’s errands and resume this life. He was aware that there was a chance that he could stay here or go back to the 21st century. Though he could not be absolutely certain, Merlin was sure that he was being given a choice: this life, to go back and amend for all the mistakes and missed opportunities, or that life: to live with all the mistakes and missed opportunities but have the power to change things without any knowledge of what was to come. It was time to choose. 

And so he did. 

Merlin looked down at his shoes for a moment, examining how the laces were getting rattier the longer he wore them. Finally, he allowed himself to look into Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur Pendragon, I don’t think I have gone a day without loving you for more than a thousand years. I love you more than anything else in this world, but I am willing to wait for you. Wait for you to fall in love with me.”

Arthur stared at him blankly. This had not been the response Arthur was expecting. As for Merlin, after months of living with a female version of him, he was having trouble adjusting to having the male Arthur back. “You… love me?” Arthur asked slowly.

“Crazy, huh? I didn’t figure it out until after I jumped off a cliff, trying to kill myself. But, I didn’t die. You yelled at me though.”

“You tried to kill yourself? When was this?”

“A few hundred years in the future.”

“Have you been at the tavern again? I mean, seriously… you must be drunk right now.”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve forgotten that you haven’t always been so obliging about feelings. That’s something you grow into, I guess.”

“Have you hit your head especially hard recently?”

Merlin shook his head. “Nope.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“That’s certainly true. It would take a madman to fall in love with you.”

“What are you implying about Gwen?”

“Nah, Gwen is fantastic. Gwen, now, Gwen is amazing. You two fit well together. But you and me, well that’s an entirely different story.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin drew in a deep breath and exhaled, letting the burden of time roll off his shoulders. He smiled at Arthur. “This is not goodbye,” he explained quietly as he clapped Arthur on the shoulder and gave a curt, excusatory nod. “To the future.”

With a quick spin, Merlin began walking in the opposite direction, out towards the gates to the inner courtyard of the castle. “Where are you going?” Arthur shouted after him.

Merlin turned back to face the beautiful man yelling at him. “Arthur, I’m going back. I can live without you now, but I won’t be able to live without you later.”

“When is later?” 

“The future.”

“Merlin, I order you to stop! I demand you stop and explain to me what is going on!” Arthur shouted. 

“You’re not ready for me!”

“What are you going on about? I am ready for you to deal with my armor!”

“No, Arthur. Not like that. You, all of you, is not ready for me. But in the future, you will be. And you’ll be fantastic.”

“I’m fantastic now!”

“Eh… you’re a bit arrogant. You’ll always be a bit arrogant, but at least you’ll learn some humility.”

“But where are you going back to? Back to Ealdor? Merlin, I don’t know what I’ve done! Please tell me what is wrong! You love me, but you’re leaving. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go!” 

Merlin hesitated for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder and before he lost his courage, he walked back to Arthur with as much grace as he could muster. “This is for everything that we have ahead of ourselves. This is for everything we have been, we are, and what we will be. Because I love you more than I have loved anyone else in my life and I will love you more than anything else in this world, forever and a day.”

He reached up and braced Arthur’s head with both of his hands and pulled him in for a more passionate kiss than was probably polite. When they broke apart, Arthur was wide-eyed and petrified. “Merlin?” he murmured.

“You won’t remember this. Not for a long time.”

“I think I’ll remember my manservant kissing me.”

“If I’m lucky,” Merlin answered with a cheeky grin. 

And with that, Merlin ran through the gates and found himself in the middle of an empty field, lit by a new moon.


	22. Chapter 22

Finding no reason to rush back home, Merlin decided to take a holiday. He didn’t know where he would go. Maybe he’d go to the States and finally see the world outside of Glastonbury. When he thought more of it, he figured that starting with America was a bit ambitious. Maybe a quick jaunt to Edinburgh would be adventurous enough for him. Next, he’d cross the Channel and explore Normandy.

Instead, he started by going back to visit Gaius. He stayed there for a few days before he finally conceded to the fact that he did need to back to Glastonbury and resume his life. He wouldn’t be alone for very long; Gaius had agreed to move to Glastonbury in a few months’ time. Though Gaius would never admit it to Merlin, he feared that the cruelty of the universe was dangerously close to ripping the goodness out of Merlin’s soul and that Merlin should never live alone again. This was Gaius’ way of ensuring that Merlin had someone, at least for as long as he had left. But until Gaius joined Merlin, Merlin would live alone. He returned to Glastonbury, back to Avalon, and back to the strange world he knew so well.

The first few days at home were tough. Arthur’s belongings, for the most part, were no longer there, but his heart nearly dropped out of his chest when he found a scarf of hers draped over a chair in their bedroom.

His head seared with pain. _Their bedroom_.

Arthur wasn’t dead. That was what Merlin needed to keep in mind. Arthur was still very much alive and well. She would lead Britain beautifully and would lead the people away from the atrocities that Morgana and Mordred had afflicted upon the country. Albion’s Golden Age would come again.

Shakily, he sat down on the bed, cradling the soft fabric in his lap. He brought the scarf up to his face and inhaled deeply. It smelled vaguely of jasmine and almond oil, of the vanilla of her body wash, of the floral shampoo she used, and most of all, of both of them together.

Tears pricked at his eyes and he sniffled. His chin quivered before he would allow himself to fully succumb to tears. There was no way he could do this again. He had made his choice though; he could have chosen to stay with Arthur in Camelot, back in the days of Camelot before everything fell to pieces. He could have stood by Arthur’s side as his manservant and closest advisor, but that would have meant that Merlin would have been forced to wait even longer still. He was right; Arthur hadn’t been ready for Merlin when they were younger.

Arthur needed those years to mature. And honestly, it didn’t matter what form Arthur came to Merlin in—Arthur could have been a snail for all Merlin cared— there was a reason why they had been kept apart for so long. Merlin needed to come to terms with his reality and become honest about his feelings towards Arthur. King Arthur Pendragon needed to become his Arthur Pendragon. And that was the reason why Merlin had walked away. There were so many things Merlin and Arthur could have done if he stayed, but there were even more things that Merlin and Arthur could do now.

They would have been able to do them if Arthur weren’t the new monarch of Britain, of course.

His body shuddered with the violent sobs that left him. He curled around the blankets that had been hastily thrown back, leaving the bed unmade. This was all he had of Arthur: her lingering scent and the knowledge that at some point, she had shared this bed with him. She had curled her fingers around his hair, ran her fingers along his skin, let her breath fall on him and cover him in fleeting warmth. She had let her hair ensconce him and engulf him, pulling from him thoughts of the past, present, and some impossible future they could have had.

The divot in her pillow formed a perfect mold of her head for Merlin’s memory. The way the sheets were left alluded to how she last slept in this bed. She had never lay on him as he did her, never allowing herself to listen to his heartbeat as he had hers, never allowing herself to be wrapped up in his arms as he did with hers. Just as they had done when staying with Gaius. She had never done that willingly. Why she never had done that had never made sense to Merlin until now.

Arthur had died in Merlin’s arms, his head against Merlin’s chest and pounding heart. He had died with Merlin’s arms awkwardly wrapped around him, fitting there so imperfectly that Merlin still grieved for how they would never be able to have that time back to do things in proper order. To be with each other without the contraindications that the rest of the world put on them.

He cried himself to sleep, just as he had done centuries earlier. But, instead of an unwelcoming forest floor to cradle him, he had Arthur’s pillow and a blanket to sop up his tears.

For the next few days, he could barely breathe, let alone go to work and make conversation and nice with his customers. But, he did. He had to. This was his life. And life went on, as it always did. Quietly, he put the decent replica of the Pendragon crest up in the window of the shop, showing his support and loyalty to his queen. The monarchist within him would never die, no matter what had happened.

The warm weather taunted him. All he could feel was the chill of her absence. No matter how warm he made his showers, how many blankets he buried himself under, or how hot he took his tea, he still felt frigid. There were times when Merlin thought he’d have to will his heart to beat because, even though she lived, Arthur was gone from him again.

Merlin had always believed that love was supposed to make you warm. The stories he had heard as he had grown older, watching as so much warmth was shared between people that shared that deep, consummate bond not at all unlike what he had with Arthur, had convinced him that this was what love was meant to be. It was meant to be the life force that burned deep within veins and capillaries that would never see the surface of skin. Love could never be cut from you because it was so deeply embedded.

Now, he didn’t believe this to be true. Merlin now understood love to be something that was barely attached to the skin, sloughed off as easily as a dead layer of dermal cells that covered an itchy healing wound. He had never meant to scratch his love for Arthur off and away from him, but like many of these itchy healing wounds, he had scratched at it thoughtlessly, and now all he had left was a scar from the wound, and he regretted ever touching the wound at all.

But it wasn’t something he could regret. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t sent her away. This transcended their ability to act and choose. This was Arthur’s obligation, and Merlin had stood beside Arthur, as he had always done, and now they were suffering.

Merlin needed to live without regret. He had lived, regretting his entire life, and there was no way he could ever regret Arthur. Irrationally, he wished that he could. But he knew, far below the anger and disappointment and urges to lash out and destroy everything that he had come to hate in the aftermath of Morgana’s actions, that it would be impossible to regret Arthur and their time together. It would be impossible to regret all those smiles and laughs that they had shared, the tears that they wept without caring what the other thought, and the legend they had created. Time had made Merlin a bolder man, but not bold enough to be such a fool.

Merlin would always love Arthur, always remain dutifully devoted, and there was nothing that could ever change that. That was the burden Merlin was born to bear. The burden Merlin was born to bear was never simply a matter of serving Arthur. No, it was far more complicated than that. The blood in his veins flowed for Arthur, and his bones were built for Arthur. Someday, he hoped, his remains would rest peacefully, existing because of Arthur.

At some point, Merlin lost track of time. It wasn’t difficult for him to fall into a routine, going through life on autopilot. Life went by him in blurs and within no time, he was back to square one, back to where he was before a woman in a dress and trainers ran after him on a street, shouting that she knew him and that he knew her. The only thing that was different was that he didn’t look like an old man.

Though, in reality, about three weeks passed. Three weeks passed, and he was walking home the way he always had, along the former shores of Avalon, and at first, he didn’t think much of the strange figure standing out on the flats. A lot of people were heading out to the Tor on a day like this; the weather was perfect for a hike, and he had seen a lot of people crossing the flats to get back to their cars parked along the road.

His route took him closer to the flats, but he did not notice this. It was far too familiar to notice these things anymore.

“Forever and a day, huh?”

Merlin jerked his head toward the noise and found Arthur standing out towards the center of the former lake of Avalon, her eyes bright with mirth and a huge grin on her face. Her bright red dress swayed gently in the subtle breeze whisking across the plain. She stepped closer to him, the long, wavy locks of hair falling off her shoulders and reflecting gold the sunlight. Merlin froze and let his messenger bag fall off his shoulder and drop to the ground. He started walking toward her thoughtlessly.

She kept walking toward him. “You know, you gave me quite a shock there. The thought of what people might think of two men kissing was downright appalling. A male servant kissing his king? Outrageous. But you know what? If people can’t recognize what love, trust, respect, and absolute devotion is, fuck them.”

Arthur was halfway to closing the gap between them now. “If there is anything I have learned throughout my existence, it is that love and the need to be with someone rarely fits the confines of what society imposes. Love does not always result in wedding bells or fancy dresses. Love does not always require a single man and a single woman coming together. Love is never expected or straightforward. Love is not always about sex, and sex is not always about love. Love is never without respect, never without trust, and most certainly, never without devotion. Commitment is rarely without compromise, and there is nothing in the universe that says that love lasts a single lifetime.”

She now stood a hundred feet away from him, her arms hanging at her sides. She moved in closer to Merlin and maintained direct eye contact. Once they were close enough to touch, Arthur grinned as she reached out for his hand. “You incredible man. Standing vigil, awaiting my return without question. As you always have. Thank you for never changing.”

He swallowed and took in a deep breath. There were a million things he could say, but he couldn’t say any of them.

Arthur, on the other hand, could.

“I took you for granted. And I am sure I still do on occasion. I probably will again in the future, but I now see your worth. It was always there, right under my nose, but I’m an idiot, and I won’t always see that. We are both flawed and probably ruined beyond repair, but as long as I am with you and you are with me, there is nothing we won’t be able to do.”

She suddenly found it hard to speak, and laughed nervously. She cleared her throat and tried to start again, but had some more trouble. When he felt tears stinging at his eyes, he was relieved to see that her eyes were also glistening with tears. “But sometimes, love…” her voice faltered and she started again shakily, “…love does lead to a set of vows. If you’ll recall, you made your vow to me, hundreds of years ago, when I asked you to never change. And you have kept that vow. But, I haven’t made my vow to you. And I apologize profusely for keeping you waiting. I hope you’ll accept this as my vow to you.”

Arthur dropped down to one knee, still holding tightly to Merlin’s hand. “I swear, on the great and hallowed lands of Albion and Britannia, upon the Pendragon crest, on every life I have lived, and all the time we have together, that there has never been a day that has gone by where I am not grateful that you are a part of me. I am the most fortunate soul to have ever existed because you stand beside me. And there is nothing I could ever do to repay you for that except to hope that I can adequately express what you mean to me. I love you, Merlin, forever and a day.”

For a moment, he was stunned. There was no possible way for him to respond to that. This was the first time Arthur had ever expressed such feelings, such thoughts, such…

He dropped to the ground so that they were at eye-level. Merlin began to giggle, embarrassed by the reaction, but he was relieved when she began to laugh too. “Quick! Use magic to make it rain and I’ll grab my phone so we could make this into a scene from a really cheesy rom-com,” Arthur exclaimed, moving so that both of her knees were on the ground now.

She leaned in and wrapped her hand around the base of his skull. Quickly catching on, Merlin reciprocated and the walls that had stood between them for fifteen hundred years came crumbling down. He had chosen this life instead of going back to revise his errors. Arthur had lived, changing a little bit each time until Arthur of Camelot became the Arthur that Merlin sat before. He had not changed, but they both knew that a little bit of change had to happen. Change was inevitable in such a long timespan.

When they broke apart, they giggled like teenagers for a minute or so before Merlin remembered that he had questions. “Why aren’t you in London? Aren’t you the Queen or something?”

She hesitated. “I abdicated.”

“Why?”

“There are far more qualified people for the job. Besides, why would I want to live in London, spending my days roaming the country, meeting with people and waving and accepting flowers when I could be here, spending my days cutting herbs and irritating you.”

He smiled at her joke. “Who took over then?”

“Well, I presume you haven’t been keeping up with the news, but I passed the crown to Prince Harry.”

“You did?”

“It may not have been his intended path, but it certainly makes more sense for him than for me. Monarchy is not the same as it was in Camelot.”

Merlin nodded absently. His hands were still braced on her hips and her hands were resting on his thighs. He loved how his hands fit with her pelvis, how he could anchor his palms around the front, the curved planes of the sides of her ilium bones. The way his fingers could drape over the back of her pelvis and rest there in a stabilizing and intimate manner still mystified him. Clearly, he could wax poetic about her hips, and it was doubtful that there would come a day when he couldn’t.

“How did you know I’d be here?” he asked her timidly, still finding it difficult to find his voice.

“You always return to the shores of Avalon. It’s where you can always be found. It’s not Camelot or Ealdor; it’s Avalon.”

He inhaled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s home.”

“Home?”

“Well, I mean, if this isn’t home, I honestly don’t know what the hell you call that house of yours.”

“It’s a house.”

“So is it home? Is it your home?”

“It’s a home,” he replied softly. “It…”

His voice faltered. It was almost too embarrassing to admit what it really was. “It’s the only home I have, so let’s go,” Arthur replied confidently.

She stood up from the ground, sliding through Merlin’s hands until they were at her knees. He was still on the ground, his hands still around her, and looking up towards at her eyes. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming. I really need to know that I’m not dreaming.”

Arthur bent at the waist and braced her hands against his shoulders. Merlin was painfully aware that her breasts were in his face, but that was not the point she was trying to make. “This is not a dream. I am here, you are here, we are both just out in the middle of an ancient lake. This is really happening.”

But because she was being held around her knees, she lost her balance and fell over backward. Arthur burst out laughing, but Merlin was horrified. “Oh god! Are you okay?”

“Are you convinced that this isn’t a dream?” she asked him, without moving to sit up.

He was kneeling over her, trying to make sure that she hadn’t gotten hurt. She was laughing, but that wasn’t always indicative that she was fine. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think this would happen in a dream?”

“You falling over?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“All right then. You have your answer. Now. We should probably get home, because I think I’ve fallen into an ant hole.”

“Oh god,” Merlin breathed as he helped her up to her feet.

After doing a quick visual sweep to make sure that she wasn’t covered in ants (which she was not), they walked, hand in hand, back to where he had discarded his messenger bag. With the bag slung over his shoulder, they made their way back to the ancient stone house that finally felt like home.

 

***

 

He had seen hundreds of years. No one had ever seen as many years as he did, but there he was, still standing in the same body he had had all those years ago.

Children would at his beard and his ears when he finally began to age again, and he would never ignore their teasing again. He would grin and laugh along with them when the time came for him to poke fun at himself and all the time he had spent on this earth. He thought of when he had first walked this land and how he had never dreamt of this day coming. He thought of how he had helped all those people and how he had never expected anything in return. He had always supposed that his time would come, when he would be rewarded for his efforts.

And here he was, finally getting the thanks that he deserved. Arthur had thanked him once before, perhaps his second to last breath. It might as well have been King Arthur Pendragon’s proclamation of love, but there was nothing more telling than how this Arthur now held Merlin's hand. It was blatantly clear that Arthur now revered (at least openly) him as the most important thing to ever exist, and had just promised Merlin the rest of her life.

Maybe the time had finally come where being dreadfully old had its benefits.

He couldn’t wait to find out.

 

 

Fin


End file.
